


216 + 1: Words To Say Instead of I Love You

by briggs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Allison Argent (minor character), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, IM LITERALLY STILL GOING, Lydia Martin (minor character), M/M, Mutual Pining, No Homo, Pining, Scott McCall (minor character), Sharing a Bed, THERE ARE SO MANY TAGS IM SORRY, i might add more later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briggs/pseuds/briggs
Summary: Derek and Stiles have been best friends for fourteen years. They have their differences, sure, but it's never been a question for them. Their friendship has been the most solid thing in their lives -- until suddenly it isn't anymore. Funny how just a few choice words can throw fourteen years of friendship off-balance.ORa collection of "Bro, That's Gay" one-shots that actually ended up turning into a concrete storyline.





	1. "Dude, I dare you to kiss me."

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STARTED OFF AS ONE SHOTS AND NOW ITS A CLUSTERFUCK IM SORRY TRY TO HAVE FUN READING
> 
> the two posts the chapters were based on are here: http://grimegarage.tumblr.com/post/146166552941/dialogue-prompts  
> and here: http://grimegarage.tumblr.com/post/137861711561/friends-or-more-sentence-starters
> 
> (thanks to my beautiful garbage wife karissa for editing reading through it all. i wouldn't be where i am without you, ya freak)

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bro.” Stiles sits across the room cross-legged, his head finally returning to normal after being thrown back in his outrageous laugh.   
  
That laugh could be annoying if you weren’t the type to appreciate that sort of thing, but Derek has been around the kid long enough that it doesn't phase him anymore. It’s the best kind of irritating. And the thing Stiles does with his hands -- throwing them around every few words, raking them through his hair like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he leaves it alone for too long -- just little things Derek notices that make his stomach twist with something he can’t place. Annoying in the most endearing way, like a best friend usually is.   
  
Stiles adjusts his legs on the carpet, leaning on the couch of his own living room. “I highly doubt she said that. I mean, no offense -- but still.”   
  
They’ve known each other for fourteen years now. Maybe it’s luck or situational circumstances that have kept them together, but in any case, they’re still friends. Some call them a weird combination, especially people who know them well enough, but they work. They’re polar opposites, sure -- but Derek’s never been comfortable with anyone like he is with Stiles.   
  
“Okay, you can’t tell me not to be offended by that,” Derek shoots back, crossing his arms. “And you better believe it.”   
  
Erica finally speaks up from the couch, tossing golden waves across her shoulder. “I believe it.”   
  
“That doesn’t count,” Stiles protests, holding a finger up to her and finally taking his eyes off Derek. “You were drunk, everything is better when you’re drunk.”   
  
She scoffs at him. “Actually I was high, and you know I wouldn’t say it was good if it wasn’t. The only time I’d lie for Der-Bear is if he killed someone and needed an alibi."

“Call me that again and it’ll be your murder I need an alibi for,” Derek bites back, and Erica just laughs.

“Ooh, snappy,” She says, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles breaks in again, “I think you’re hyping yourself up a little. Like that time you said you fought off a bear up in Niagara Falls! I call bullshit dude, when have you ever even been to Niagara Falls?”   
  
Derek says, “It was northern California! Where the hell did you get Niagara Falls from?” just after Erica gets in a soft, “Oh I am so making popcorn for this,” to herself. She leaves the room and Derek distantly hears the beeping of Stiles’ ancient microwave in the kitchen in the next room over, but he’s preoccupied, instead focused on the challenging rise of Stiles’ left eyebrow.    
  
“I call bullshit.”    
  
Derek unfolds his arms and brings a hand up to his temple. “I’ve shown you scars, Stiles, what the hell.”   
  
Erica’s shout of, “We’ve both seen ‘em, I vouch!” comes through from the kitchen doorway, and Stiles’ face shifts. 

It’s mostly his narrowed eyes, but there’s also a hint of something at the corner of his mouth. A smile maybe? He is fucking with Derek after all -- no, it’s the hint of a smirk. “I don’t recall.”

“You’re kidding.”   
  
“I,” Stiles punctuates, “don’t,” he says again, leaning forward, “recall.”    
  
“Fine!” Derek shouts -- which rarely happens, but Stiles just gets him so worked up sometimes -- and he starts tugging off his shirt. It would be much easier if he were wearing a t-shirt, since the most prominent scar is down his right shoulder and he could just lift the sleeve a little, but no. He decided on a form-fitting long sleeve, requiring he remove the whole thing. Of course.   
  
At least it’s never going to be awkward between them. Derek and Stiles have seen each other shirtless almost more times than either of them can count. Chopping firewood in the summers, the city pool when they were kids, various physical labour jobs and a multitude of sleepovers. Not to mention, they started skinny dipping together when they were incredibly young and have kept up the tradition ever since, making anything even remotely close (like, say, sleeping shirtless) more tame and manageable than it would probably have been otherwise. 

To be fair, the skinny dipping started back when Claudia and Talia were first getting really close, when they brought their kids to each other’s cottages, when Stiles and Derek were only four and six; when they could become immediate friends without hesitation; when they could run into the water at 10pm, past their bedtime, ass-naked and goosebumps raised on their shoulders and thighs, moon shining, not a care in the world. And of course, even when Claudia passed it remained tradition. Something for all of them to hold onto, among their shared thanksgiving dinners and spring barbecues.

Derek jabs a finger at his shoulder once his shirt is on the floor beside him, swiveling his torso so Stiles can see better down the back of his shoulder blade, down to his ribs. It’s long but not deep, almost like the shallow but wide scar you would get from, for example, accidentally catching your knuckle while chopping vegetables. He’d gone to emerg just to get some gauze and anti-bacterial cream and that was essentially it. 

He also had neglected to mention, when telling the story, that the bear was really only about half the normal size of an adult bear, and was only attacking him because he was being stupid. 

“There you go, you little shit,” Derek says, jabbing his finger once again in the direction of a scar Stiles has  _ definitely _ already seen (and asked about) at least thirty times in the past two years that Derek’s had it. “One shoulder scar for one Mr. Stiles Stilinski.”   
  
Stiles’ eyes linger on the lighter lines of scar tissue on Derek’s shoulder before they meet his gaze again, something Derek notices a little too easily. Stiles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips before he speaks, and Derek thinks he probably shouldn’t notice that either. “I forgot how impressive that scar was. It looks like you survived a war,” he says, with an exasperated chuckle in his voice.    
  
“I’m self-conscious about it. Can I put my shirt back on yet?”   
  
Erica’s voice comes yelling once again from the kitchen just as the microwave timer goes off. “You took your shirt off? Goddamn Der, you couldn’t even wait until I got back? Jesus!”   
  
Stiles replies in his regular voice, as though Erica hadn’t said anything at all. “I don’t believe you yet, keep it off for a little. And seriously, my ass you’re self-conscious about anything, dude.”   
  
“I can hear you, Stilinski!” Erica shouts again, but Derek chooses to follow suit in ignoring her. 

“I could be self-conscious,” Derek says, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He tracks Stiles’ gaze across his own torso without meaning to, once again. “I mean, my shoulder is pretty mauled, that’s a reasonable thing to be insecure about.” 

Stiles meets his eyes again, dropping his challenging attitude in favour of looking more hopeful. “Could I -- can I touch it?”    
  
Derek can only shrug. The scars are just marginally more sensitive than the skin surrounding them, and the only other person who’s ever touched them is his mom. Not that he hasn’t let anyone -- it’s just that Stiles is now the first person to ever have asked. He figures it essentially can’t get weird between him and Stiles, so when the younger kid scoots closer, he doesn’t shy away.   
  
With Stiles in such sudden close proximity, Derek can’t help the small breath of air he sucks in when Stiles’ fingertips first brush along the skin of his shoulder blade, tracing the lines of memory that bring Derek back to one of the scariest moments he’s ever experienced -- and yet, he doesn’t feel anything less than completely safe.   
  
Of course that’s when Erica walks in, popcorn in hand, laughing as soon as she sees them. “Oh man, give me a second. I need to text the boys about this. I can’t -- God, I need to find my phone. I’ll be right back.”   
  
Stiles and Derek agree non-verbally to ignore Erica’s commentary to continue their debate. “Shit, dude, these are sick.” Stiles’ eyes finally tear away from the scars to look at Derek once more, who immediately looks away.   
  
Shrugging again, Derek picks up his shirt and balls it in his hands. Stiles is close now, and he chuckles softly at Derek’s reddening ears, flicking one lightly and murmuring something about how Derek gets when he’s embarrassed. “Yeah, well. At least you can’t say I’m not badass anymore.”   
  
“I still don’t believe she said that, dude.”   
  
Derek rolls his eyes, stretching out his shirt. “She said, and I quote, ‘no one is as good as Derek Hale when it comes to kissing.’”   
  
“Not a chance. I’m not buying it,” Stiles reiterates for what must be the hundredth time, pushing Derek’s shoulder.   
  
“Why not?” Derek asks, and he only has to focus a little bit on keeping the hurt out of his voice. Just a little.   
  
Stiles laughs, pushing a hand through his hair again. “I just think that the statistics are unrealistic. No way you can look like that,” Stiles motions to all of him, “and also be a naturally incredible kisser. No one can win the genetic lottery like that, it’s just unfair. I refuse to believe it’s true. You’d have to be God-like for Lydia to compliment you at all, and I simply refuse to believe you’re allowed to have more than just your looks going for you.”   
  
Derek feel his eyebrow rise. “There’s only one way to find out,” He says, struggling not to laugh.   
  
“Is that a challenge, Hale?”   
  
“Damn right,” Derek shoots, and Stiles leans away, taken aback, perhaps faux-surprised.    
  
It takes a moment before Stiles is laughing. “Yeah right. Nice try, buck-o.”   
  
He’s not exactly sure why, but once again, Derek is forced to try and keep the hint of hurt out of voice when he replies. He decides the best way for him to do that is to taunt, like they usually do. “Scared?”   
  
“Hell no,” Stiles chuckles, louder this time. “If one of us is scared, it’s you.”   
  
Derek’s eyebrows knit together, corner of his mouth going up in a sort of disbelieving expression. “That’s not true, what the hell?”   
  
There’s a rustle that sounds from upstairs, but neither Derek nor Stiles pay it any attention, never tearing their eyes away from their challenging glare. “It is and you know it!”   
  
“I’m not scared, Stilinski,” Derek laughs, feeling the tension in the air.   
  
“I dare you.”   
  
There’s a pause while Derek sputters. “What?” is all he can say.    
  
“I dare you to kiss me, Hale. You’d never do it.”   
  
Honestly, Derek’s a little shocked that this is what this conversation turned into, shocked at how serious they’ve gotten.

There’s a brief moment where Stiles is glaring, with fire in his eyes -- the way he used to when he challenged Derek to any contest whatsoever -- and then Derek is cupping his jaw and pressing his lips solidly to Stiles’, breath hot and warm. Stiles’ lips are soft against his own and Derek doesn’t think about whether it’s weird, all too focused instead on the taste on his mouth when they part.   
  
“No homo though, right?” Stiles asks after a couple breaths, even as his cheeks are flushed and his lips are starting to swell.   
  
For some reason it feels like a punch to the gut. “Yeah,” Derek shrugs, “no homo.”   
  
“Cool,” Stiles says, nodding. “Because I’m not sure I believe you yet.” And then he’s smirking again and pulling Derek in for another go.   
  
But because timing is a thing that doesn’t particularly like Derek as a person, Erica chooses that moment to walk in, phone in hand -- which Derek actually only realizes because of the sound her phone makes when it takes a picture. Then Erica’s cackling witch-laugh echoes down the hallway as she runs away clutching the picture on her phone to her chest.   
  
He doesn’t look back at the laughing Stiles before running after Erica, fists at the ready but smile on his face.

 

 

Later that night, when Derek is alone in his bed at 3a.m. unable to sleep for the excited uneasiness in his stomach, he thinks for a second that maybe something has changed. 

Then, of course, he shakes his head at his ridiculous sleep-deprived mind and rolls over. 


	2. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Stiles readjusts his arms underneath his head, looking over at Derek for just a minute before turning his attention back to the night sky above them. The hood of the Jeep has a metallic chill to it that’s cooling off his back as they lay there watching the stars, but Derek couldn’t care less. Everything seems to disappear when they’re like this together. Friendship is powerful, right?  
  
After being so close with someone for ages, you start to notice certain habits they have. For example, Stiles fidgets when he wants to speak, but can’t for any number of reasons -- he’s in a library, someone doesn’t want him to, there’s nothing to say, he doesn’t know how to phrase it, etc. Right now, he’s shifting his whole body every few minutes, probably trying to figure out how to say something in a manner that won’t piss Derek off.

Derek has spent years trying to get Stiles to slow down and think before words fall out of his mouth, if only so he can construct proper sentences or make better decisions. Stiles once called him his filter, and honestly, it’s pretty accurate. Although, because it’s Stiles, he’s still prone to getting excited and spewing word-vomit -- Derek only finds it endearing at this point.    
  
“Do you ever think about how life would be if we’d never met?” Stiles asks the sky above him.   
  
A low hum sounds in Derek’s throat, and his eyebrows knit together carefully. He glares at the clouds blocking their vision of the Big Dipper, willing them to move. They don’t. “Not really,” Derek replies, honestly.    
  
“How different do you think it would be?”    
  
“I don’t know,” Derek instinctively replies, but he takes a second to imagine how his day would go if Stiles didn’t exist to him. Would he look forward to a morning “You know what I hate?” paragraph text from someone else everyday, or would he not have anyone like that? Would he be less inclined to like Star Wars? Would he talk less, would he talk more, would he still be in Beacon Hills? He can feel Stiles staring at him to his left, waiting for his answer. “I’d probably have a lot more downtime,” he finally states, smirking as he turns his head to meet Stiles’ patient gaze.    
  
The crisp laugh that comes from Stiles’ chest breaks the cold silence of the night air, and Derek breaks out into a full smile even as Stiles is elbowing his ribs. “No, come on,” Stiles tries again, “be serious. Give me a real answer.”   
  
Somewhere across the field they’re parked in, a bird that shouldn’t logically be awake starts chirping into the dark, an uneven beat. “I honestly don’t know, I can’t imagine it,” Derek says, much softer this time. He turns to look at Stiles again, who has reverted to staring back up at the constellations above them. “I don’t think I want to.”   
  
Derek faithfully ignores the feeling in his chest that twists its way into his gut, gripping his ribs. It’s hard to tear his eyes away from Stiles’ cheek, bathed in moonlight, so he doesn’t try. He watches as the corner of Stiles’ mouth turns up, and when he faces Derek again his eyes are bright.

It takes a moment before Derek is forcing more words out of his mouth. “What about you?”   
  
Stiles shrugs before turning properly onto his side, rubbing his nose lightly. “I don’t know,” he hesitates, barely visible. “I got really worried the other day that -- I don’t know,” Stiles’ face twists, and Derek instinctively knows what it means.   
  
“I’m not going to judge you for what you say, Stiles. You know that.”   
  
All it earns him is a soft sigh. “I know.” He meets Derek’s eyes, taking in a breath. “It’s just a little stupid,” he huffs, insecure.   
  
Derek rolls his eyes light-heartedly. “Just say it.”   
  
“What if we suddenly stop being friends?” Stiles blurts out, finally, and his fears become obvious on his face. “Like -- like something happens, or it just becomes awkward, or one of us moves away, or one of us gets married or--”   
  
Derek feels his face tighten, concerned, even has he holds Stiles’ gaze. “Why, are you leaving?” Sure, maybe  he says it a little quickly. It’s not his fault.   
  
“No, I--”   
  
“Then you’re engaged, right?”    
  
Stiles closes his eyes. “No, I’m just --”   
  
“Ooooh,” Derek drags, feeling himself relax as he calms Stiles down. Stiles’ scandalized responses are comforting, knowing they’re far from the truth. They give Derek a little hope, but for what he’s not sure. “So then you hate me? You’re dying. Stiles, I’m so sorry--”    
  
“Derek, hey, no,” Stiles says, but he’s laughing and shoving his hands in Derek’s face obnoxiously, trying to get him to stop speaking. “None of that, okay? But if I did hate you, it would definitely be because of that stupid thing you do with you -- yeah, that, like that! That little smirk! Stop it, Jesus dude, you’re like the incarnate of the devil himself -- will you stop?” His laughter echoes through the field, soaking into the trees on the far end.    
  
They pause again, staring at each other, the laugh still showing in the shine of Stiles’ eyes.    
  
Derek smiles softly, tries to look reassuring. “Stiles, if none of that’s happening right now then we don’t need to worry about it. We’ve stayed together this long, we can cross those bridges  _ if _ we ever come to them.” He makes sure to emphasize the word “if.”   
  
Stiles closes his eyes, rolls back onto his back and pauses for a few moments before he speaks again. “Remember a couple years ago, when Heather cheated on me and broke my poor little teenage heart and you spent three days living in my house?”

He does remember, vividly. Waking up on Stiles’ floor to his snoring, a warm feeling spreading in his ribs. He remembers Lord of the Rings marathons and Mario Kart tournaments, a box of cereal on each of their laps (Lucky Charms and Captain Crunch), going to bed at 6am and waking up with the sunset. He remembers finding a way onto Stiles’ roof, watching the occasional car go by as they talk against the slow sunrise. Hearing Stiles laugh so hard he nearly threw up, comforting him when he cried so hard he couldn't breathe. He remembers feeling like he could do it forever, would never need to go home, would forget sleeping or eating properly for the rest of his life if Stiles asked him to stay.

Eventually the weekend had ended, they both had school the next day, and Derek spent two hours in the weight room after school working off a feeling he didn't understand. He was completely confused for days as to why his gut suddenly felt heavy, and frequently caught himself staring at Stiles’ hands, or his lips, or his back, or his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Derek replies finally, letting his eyes linger on Stiles’ face like before, confused again by his reluctance to look away and whatever feeling is flooding his chest.    
  
Stiles seems to notice the eyes on him and turns to look at Derek, scanning his face. For some reason, Derek immediately feels self-conscious, fighting the urge to look away or cover his face. Stiles narrows his eyes, contemplating, curious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”   
  
It’s a soft sound, Stiles’ voice, and it cuts through the dark of the field in a different way than everything else has that night. Everything in Derek’s brain tells him to stop, to panic, to hide his face and run.   
  
“No reason,” Derek says, without remembering when he made the decision to do so, and looks away. He hopes the night masks his flush, which he knows only exists because of the wind and the cold of the night. Why else would he be flushed, right?  
  
Derek shakes his head again. He has always felt a sort of trapped affection for Stiles, this is no different. Derek is just in a weird slump, that's all. 


	3. "I accidentally called you my boyfriend today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's pretty short, but chapter four is longer so hang in there!!

“Hey,” Derek hears Stiles call from the hallway of his apartment, closing the door behind him.   
  
“In here,” Derek replies back from the couch in his living room.  Stiles rounds the corner with two burritos in hand, wordlessly handing one to Derek before falling onto the couch ass first. “Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”   
  
Stiles shrugs, already unwrapping and digging into his burrito. The noises he makes as he does are ridiculous and Derek does his best to ignore them. “Mmf igm hanmnr,” Stiles says emphatically, muffled through bites of burrito.   
  
“I hope I wasn’t supposed to be able to understand that,” Derek laughs.   
  
He gets rolled eyes in return, followed by Stiles throwing his arms about and bouncing on the couch trying to make himself chew faster, and he rushes to swallow. As soon as his mouth is empty, Stiles is spilling words out of his mouth again. “Work got out early, and I know I blew you off today, so I thought I’d just pop over.” He takes a quick look around before speaking rushedly again. “Hey did you change something up around here? It looks different.”   
  
Derek shrugs. He spent three hours yesterday trying to put together an Ikea bookshelf for all his books near the window, and nearly lit the damn thing on fire out of frustration. When he finally put it together and painted it, he realized it didn’t even fit a quarter of the books he had in his apartment -- which is really less than half of his book collection in general, the rest of which are currently with Laura because floor-to-ceiling bookshelves no longer exist, apparently. He purposely doesn’t reply to Stiles; he wants to see how long it will take him to realize he moved the dining table to make room.

“The bookshelf,” Stiles says slowly, after another bite of his burrito. He gets up off the couch, carrying his burrito with him, scoping out the changes. “The bookshelf is definitely new. Guaranteed you’ve still got piles of books in your bedroom though. Dude, you need to pull a Fahrenheit 451 on those things, you’ve got way too many.”   
  
He rolls his eyes. “I’d never burn a book, that’s personally insulting. And besides, you’re just jealous of my book collection.”   
  
“Yeah,” Stiles turns back, laughing, “But I’d never  _ tell _ you that.” He scopes around a bit more, taking occasional bites of his burrito and somehow not spilling it all over Derek’s hardwood. It’s a fucking miracle. It may be the first time, like, ever. He should get Stiles a medal. “And you moved the dining table. Hey, are you gonna paint these walls anytime soon? This grey is getting boring.”   
  
“I’ve been thinking about it.” And it’s true, he has. It’s a little weird to think about things like that, but yeah, he’s been considering a nice maroon to go with his marble countertops. “What happened at work? Anything interesting?”   
  
Stiles shrugs, coming back to the couch to sit down. “Nah. I accidentally called you my boyfriend today, that’s about it.”   
  
Derek stops. Everything stops.

He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to figure out what systems in his body just malfunctioned. He tries shaking his head, resetting his brain -- the world has momentarily stopped turning and Derek’s freaking out. 

“What happened?” he finally manages to get out, forcing his voice to level.   
  
Somehow, Derek’s little system failure has gone almost completely unnoticed by Stiles. “I was just talking to Greenberg -- the idiot, you know, I talk about him all the time -- and he asked me what I was doing after work, cause we were getting let out early, and whatever. And Greenberg sort of, like, freaks me out sometimes? Like skeevy, greasy, no-no, bad touch, bad touch type. Plus, I’m not sure if he knows he’s hitting on me all the time or just thinks it’s totally natural? Anyway my brain just went “HARD PASS!” without me even thinking about it so I blurted out that I was going to my boyfriend’s later. He looked a little freaked out and then shrugged. Not sure how I should take that, but yeah, it was weird dude. Oh! And even before that, someone asked me what movies guys like and I accidentally called you my boyfriend then, too!”   
  
“What? More than once?”   
  
“Yeah!” Stiles says, like they’re bonding over a good joke. “I was like, “Well me and my boyfriend typically watch…” but they didn’t even notice.”   
  
It takes a couple seconds before Derek forces himself to laugh. “Isn’t Greenberg the one who’s always last out of the locker room at your school?”   
  
“YES!” Stiles shouts, pointing, even through another mouthful of burrito. He swallows before speaking again. “You do remember me talking about him! Yeah, totally creepy, right?”   
  
“Definitely,” Derek agrees, because he thinks he’s met the kid at some point. He can’t really remember, but talk of him does spark some memories. “So they didn’t say anything?”   
  
“No, not really. Greenberg was a little suspicious and he asked me who my boyfriend was, but I didn’t tell him. Don’t want to seem overeager, you know? It looks less real that way. Plus, he totally wouldn’t have believed me if I tried to tell him it was you.” Stiles is already reaching for Derek’s remote, helping himself and turning on Netflix as if Derek isn’t having a mental breakdown right then and there. “Weird, though, right? I mean, it just came out.”   
  
Derek’s stomach twists with something he can’t pinpoint, but he tries to ignore it. “Yeah, that’s weird. I mean, we do hang out a lot, I don’t blame you,” he jokes, trying to laugh it off and testing Stiles’ reaction. 

Stiles immediately breaks into a soft chuckle, flipping through comedy choices. “Yeah, I mean -- I think he did know I meant you though.” He looks over at Derek for a moment, grin on his face. “Not that I mind, I mean, it’s you.”

“Thanks? I think,” Derek laughs.  
  
“No, no, it’s totally a good thing. I mean, hanging out with you has always upped my popularity status.” Stiles grins again, burrito in one hand and remote in the other. He still has managed not to spill anything, and Derek is floored. “I mean, people still occasionally ask me if we’re dating. It’s a fucking miracle people think that’s possible.” Stiles seems to be saying it casually, but Derek’s chest tightens.  
  
“Why would that be a miracle?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, not tearing his eyes away from the TV. “Oh, I don’t know, dude. You’re so -- you. You’re leagues above me.” He must notice Derek’s disbelieving laughter, because he continues. “No, bro, I’m serious! I’m not even putting myself down here, I’m being totally legit  --  you’re essentially a movie star and I’m a typical teenage boy. Stop making that face at me, come on.”  
  
“I still don’t get it, but sure. Whatever you say.” Derek rolls his eyes and leans back on the couch. “What are you looking for?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I’m just scrolling, man.”  
  
Derek holds out his hand for the remote, making silent grabby fingers at it. “Lemme find something.” Stiles hands him the remote, and he immediately flips to the horror section. “I’m in the mood for something scary, thoughts?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m in.”  
  
“Do you really think I’m out of your league?” Derek asks, after they’re about twenty minutes into _Cabin_ _in_ _the_ _Woods_.   
  
Stiles looks to him briefly, confused. “What? Oh, I mean -- yeah, dude. You’re like, a total babe. Not that I’m like, super into you or anything, I don’t want it to get weird.”  
  
“Did you just No Homo me?” Derek says, laughing even through the movie.  
  
He earns yet another shrug from Stiles, who’s also chuckling. “Yep, pretty much.”  
  
Though he was joking before, Derek feels his stomach twist again. He doesn’t know why, and he sweeps the problem under the rug for further inspection later. “Nice,” Derek chokes out, and he pushes his emotions down for the rest of the night. 


	4. “We always share blankets on the couch, I’m sure sharing your bed for a night is fine, too.”

Two weeks after Stiles bringing him a burrito, Stiles is at Derek’s house again.

Occasionally, when really difficult cases come up, Stiles’ dad stays at work for a whole weekend. Usually, when this happens, Stiles just stays by himself. He’s grown used to making himself dinner and snapchatting Derek all night, screaming weird songs and emphatically stirring mac & cheese. He’ll update Derek every ten minutes with the movie he’s watching, or sometimes they’ll have a six hour phone call where they barely talk, just existing in the same silence together.

This time, however, Derek decided to invite Stiles over to stay at his apartment instead. They haven’t hung out in a while, and Derek just figured it was a great opportunity for them to catch up. Not to mention, a whole weekend together is something they haven’t done in years. Probably since Heather. 

Stiles shows up right after school on the Friday, all smiles and laughter, still on the phone with his dad. He waves casually at Derek as he lets himself in, throwing his duffle bag on the floor and his backpack on the table out of habit. Derek waves back from the kitchen as much as he can while also watching dishes, turning down his music with his elbow so Stiles can have some quiet. He smiles to himself as he hears Stiles yelling at his dad about not letting the deputies buy him fast food again. Typical.   
  
“Hey dude,” Stiles finally says, moving into the kitchen once he’s finally off the phone.    
  
“Yo.” Derek looks up briefly when he responds, watching Stiles hop up onto the counter before he turns back to the dishes. “How’s the sheriff?”   
  
“Oh you know,” Stiles shrugs, “stubborn, as usual. He keeps insisting the boys never get him food, but I know they do.”   
  
“Fathers,” Derek replies sarcastically.   
  
The kid with his ass on Derek’s counter (where he prepares  _ food _ , by the way) rolls his eyes emphatically. “I  _ know, _ right?”   
  
They meet eyes for a moment again and Stiles laughs, mocking himself. It’s the exact laugh Derek can never get enough of.

Turning back to the sink, Derek ignores every thought in his brain that isn’t about the dishes because the rest of them focus largely on Stiles in a way that makes him nervous. “Can you grab me the teapot?” Derek asks, not looking up from the pan in his hands.   
  
“Oh, yeah.” The pot is at his side in seconds, and the smell of Stiles’ body wash wafts over from where Stiles is standing particularly close to him. Like usual, Derek thinks of anything else. “You don’t mind if I grab myself a Coke, do you?”   
  
“You know where they are,” Derek laughs, moving on to the next pan. “So how was school?”   
  
A long groan sounds from Stiles, who cracks open his pop and hops back up on the counter beside the sink. “Hell, as per usual. Finstock is really on my ass in Econ, I’m about ready to deck the guy.”   
  
“That’s assault.”   
  
“Do I look like I care?” Stiles laughs off his own bitterness, shrugging as he kicks his feet back against the cupboards underneath the counter he’s sitting on. “Anyway, how about you? How was your day? You’re not on call, are you?”   
  
Since the incident with his family a few years back, Derek had been slowly working on getting his fireman training. It was only luck that his family happened to be out on a walk when their house went up in flames, and Derek’s always felt like he wouldn’t have known what to do if they weren’t so lucky. Last year he got a job with the Beacon Hills Fire Department, and has been working as a full time fighter ever since.   
  
For a while it was a little traumatizing, going into flaming houses with families in them that could have been his own -- but now it’s just comforting to know if it ever happened again, he’d be able to save them. “No, not this weekend. I’ve got work Monday, though.”    
  
“Jeez, dude, how’d you get an entire weekend off?”   
  
Derek shrugs, which causes his sleeves to fall a little from where they’re rolled up at his elbows. “Just lucky I guess. Wanna push up my sleeves?”   
  
Wordlessly, Stiles motions for Derek to give him an arm, gripping his wrist lightly and pushing Derek’s sleeves past his elbows again. When he’s done with one arm, he motions for the next, forcing Derek to step away from the sink and closer to Stiles. He is, once again, forced to ignore the fact that he’s eye-level with Stiles’ collarbones, which are visible through the collar of his tee.   
  
“Thanks,” he swallows, pulling his hand out of Stiles’ grasp maybe just a little too quickly.    
  
Stiles just hums light-heartedly, resuming his kicking. “You know, you should really invest in short-sleeve shirts. Actually-- No, I lied. That’s a bad idea. With those arms? Jesus, you’d be swarmed.”   
  
Derek can’t say anything, just laughs it off and scrubs at the teapot for probably way too long.   
  
Later into the night, they’re curled up on Derek’s couch listening to music when a loud bang sounds from the right side of the apartment. They look at each other immediately, Stiles balling his hands in the blanket they’re sharing, eyes wide. “The fuck was that,” he says, hushed, and Derek reaches over to pause the speakers.   
  
The sound of rattling or clanking metal continues, softer now, and there’s a suspicious sound of running water that makes Derek sigh. No one’s in the house, but there’s definitely something wrong in the guest room.

Derek lifts himself up off the couch, resigned to scope out the right end of his loft apartment. He doesn’t expect Stiles to lift himself up as well, following Derek closely, almost hiding behind his shoulder. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised.    
  
Even as they’re very slowly making their way over, Derek knows it’s probably just the pipes -- but Stiles remains on edge, gripping a hand on Derek’s back and whipping his head around to scan the apartment every ten seconds. Just to mess with him, Derek waits until they’re in the doorway of the guest room, Stiles with his back turned to scan the rest of the apartment. Then he whips around, shouts “boo” into Stiles’ ear, and nearly pisses himself laughing when Stiles ends up with his ass on the floor, shrieking.   
  
“Oh, come on, man!” Stiles yells when he finally catches his breath, already reaching for a hand to help him up.   
  
Derek obliges, still laughing as he pulls Stiles off the floor. “It was funny!”   
  
“Whatever dude, hopefully you scared off whoever was fucking around in here too,” Stiles jokes as he moves ahead of Derek this time. “C’mon, let’s check this shit out already.”   
  
Just as Derek thought, there’s no one in the room. However, once they turn the light on, it’s evident there is definitely someone in the apartment above them.    
  
There’s water dripping from the ceiling right above the bed, a small stain already growing. It’s clear the pipes burst in exactly the wrong spot, and the room is starting to smell as Derek inspects the bed and whispers “Oh, are you fucking serious,” under his breath. 

“Well aren’t we lucky.” Stiles has his arms crossed over his chest and is still hanging by the doorway of the room, apparently reluctant to go near the mess.   
  
Derek just laughs. “Yeah, this is great. Can you go grab me my phone? We’ve got to call someone about this.”   
  
“Oh man, I was supposed to sleep there, wasn’t I?”   
  
“Yep, you sure were.”   
  
“Damn it! I wanted to be the first to try out the new frame.” Stiles is already out of sight, presumably finding Derek’s phone in the front hall, but he calls loud enough that Derek can still hear him. He comes back into the guest room and hands the cell over before leaning against the wall and just watching. “Guess I’m on the couch now, huh?”   
  
“Uh huh,” Derek says, not looking up from dialing the owner of the building. He puts the phone up to his ear and speaks to Stiles while it’s still ringing. “That or the floor. You’re gonna feel great tomorrow.”   
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Shut up and pay attention to Richard.”   
  
“He hasn’t answered yet -- oh, yeah, hi. I’m good, yeah -- actually, there’s a bit of an issue with the pipes, I think. No, the ones above me. Something burst and now there’s water coming from the ceiling. Yeah, exactly. Thanks -- yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks. See you soon.”

“He’s heading over now? What time is it?” Stiles checks his watch. “Dude, it’s 11pm. Since when was this guy so nice?”   
  
Derek shrugs, dialing another number. “He’s a friend of my mom’s, I told you that.”   
  
“ _ That _ Richard? Oh, shit dude. I thought they were two separate guys named--”   
  
The line picks up and Derek is forced to cut Stiles off. “Hey, is that Boyd? Yeah, my pipes burst. No, Ceiling. Can you -- awesome. Thanks!” After he hangs up, Derek shoves the phone into his back pocket and jogs out of the room, searching for a bucket under the sink in his kitchen. 

When he gets back to the guest room, Stiles is almost done stripping the bed and has opened up the windows. “Thanks for helping,” Derek laughs, but it’s nice that he didn’t need to ask.   
  
Stiles smiles at Derek as he walks out of the room with a pile of wet blankets in his arms. “No problem, dude. You should probably turn the lights off though, electricity and water are not a friendly combination.”   
  
It ends up taking twenty minutes for Boyd and Richard to show up, only seconds apart. Boyd gives a brief hello to everyone in the room and then excuses himself to check out the problem, rushing into the apartment. Derek might be more weirded out if he didn’t know the guy, but he’s thankful he does. Plumbing rates can be high if you’re dealing with a stranger.    
  
“Sorry about this. I’ve turned the water off for the building, so it should stop soon,” Richard says, rubbing his temples. “Listen, I’m going to go up to the couple above you and let them know what happened. Vernon’s probably going to need to get in through their apartment anyway, at least once.”   
  
Derek sighs lightly, knowing this might take a while to fix. “Yeah, good plan. Do you have any ideas on what could have happened?”   
  
“Yeah, I think it might be their toilet -- their apartment  is mirrored to yours, you know. They were having some issues a while back and I just got the nearest guy to come in and have a look, but I think he did some expensive-yet-shoddy ‘work’ on it.”    
  
“Tough break,” Stiles pipes in, arms crossed, from where he’s standing to the right of Derek.   
  
Richard just sighs again. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m going to run up, I’ll let you guys know if anything changes.”   
  
Derek just nods and closes the door behind him. When he turns around, Stiles is already heading into the guest room again to talk to Boyd, and Derek follows. “Do you want anything?” He asks, because it’s the least he can do. “I’ve got coffee and shit.”   
  
Boyd doesn’t even look away from where he’s staring at the ceiling, watching the water come through. “I’m good, maybe just some water?”   
  
“Yeah, sure,” Derek nods, but Stiles is the one who leaves the room to grab a glass from the kitchen. When he returns, Boyd simply nods at the bedside table, where Stiles places the glass.

Eventually Boyd leaves the apartment to check the one above, and about ten minutes later there are five men knocking on Derek’s door. “Hey,” the one at the front says, his blond hair almost alarming, “we’re here to help Boyd out with a pipe?”   
  
Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, come on in. He’s just on the floor above right now, but I think he’s on his way back.”   
  
“He told us the source of the problem is probably upstairs, but it’s better to fix it from down here. Do you mind if we wait?”   
  
Shaking his head, Derek leads them into the guest room before offering the same hospitality he offered to Boyd. He’s thankful when they all turn it down, though -- it’s getting late and he’s kind of exhausted. While Stiles sits on the couch, Derek opens the door to the apartment, leaving it unlocked for Boyd and Richard to come back when they need to. Finally he’s slumping back on the cushions beside Stiles, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.   
  
“Well this is fun,” Stiles says, and the cushions beside Derek’s head shift, suggesting that Stiles has mirrored him.   
  
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, just great.”   
  
“Hey,” Stiles says with a light elbow to Derek’s arm, “We could watch a movie while they’re still here?”   
  
“Yeah, sure, if you want. It’s going to be loud, though. We might not hear the movie.”   
  
“Nah, I mean we could go upstairs. The TV in your bedroom is pretty nice. There’s no rulebook saying we have to stay down here and watch them fix your pipes.”   
  
Stiles isn’t wrong. They definitely could go upstairs, and since it’s Boyd working on the pipes, Derek wouldn’t feel bad leaving them alone down there. “Sure. Go up and pick one, I’ll grab some popcorn.” 

The “upstairs” isn’t really as much a second floor so much as it is a half-loft. The stairs are on the far wall of Derek’s apartment, the floor jutting out to sit perfectly on top of the ceiling of the kitchen. If you lean over the edge of the loft’s railing, you can see the TV room and the guest room. 

It’s an incredibly nice apartment -- easily above what Derek could pay for it on his own, seeing as firefighting isn’t the most financially rewarding job in the world -- but being family friends with the owner of a building and belonging to a well-known high-class family has its perks.

“You’re letting me pick the movie again?” Stiles essentially shouts, jumping off the couch excitedly and running up the stairs to the half level where Derek's queen sized bed is. 

It actually isn’t all that unusual for Stiles to pick the movie -- mostly because Derek’s easy when it comes to film genres -- but he gets excited every time nonetheless. When he finally joins Stiles on his bed with popcorn in hand, the Netflix page for Pirates of the Caribbean already up on the screen, the plumbers have continued their work on the pipes below them. Stiles scooches closer to grab at the popcorn and remains there, settling  into Derek as usual. Derek does his best not to move. 

Halfway through the movie, Stiles looks up and speaks over arguably one of the best parts of the film. “Hey, do you think they'll be done with the guest room by the time we go to sleep?”

Derek shrugs as properly as he can without shifting Stiles too much. “Probably not, I doubt it's an easy fix. And even if they did, the mattress and the sheets are soiled, plus the room smells like ass.” He thinks about it for a second, about what extra sheets he has and whether they're clean. “I'm gonna have to try and find sheets for the couch or the floor or something, I don't wanna be too cold.”

Sitting up straight, Stiles grabs at the remote and pauses the movie so he can turn around and speak. “Hold on a second there, Hale. I thought we agreed  _ I'm  _ sleeping on the floor. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor of your own damn apartment.”   
  
“You’re the guest,” Derek says, like it’s obvious. Because it is.   
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well yeah, but you’re the host. You’re nice enough to let me stay here at all, I can’t force you to sleep on your floor.”   
  
On some level they’re both right, so Derek simply shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’ve got some extra sheets, I’ll be comfortable enough.”   
  
“What if you sleep on your bed here, and I sleep on the floor beside you?”   
  
“Then you’re still sleeping on the floor, Stiles.” It’s not a particularly comfortable floor, and Derek’s not sure he likes where this is heading. “Just give in and let me give you my bed.”   
  
Stiles seems to immediately come up with an idea in his head, Derek can see it plainly on his face. He’s not 100% sure it’s a good one, because this is Stiles he’s dealing with, so admittedly he sounds pretty suspicious when he drags out, “What?”   
  
“We could both sleep here,” Stiles says, and he looks hopeful.   
  
Derek thinks this can only end poorly for him. Although reluctantly, he agrees. “That might work, I guess. As long as you don’t mind.”   
  
Apparently there’s nothing Stiles can say to Derek today that doesn’t also involve rolling his eyes. “We always share blankets on the couch, dude, I’m sure sharing your bed for a night is fine too.”   
  
Unable to argue with such sound logic, Derek simply replies, “I guess so,” even though he has a feeling that by morning his chest is going to be aching and he will regret every single decision that led to waking up beside Stiles in his pajamas. Because as much as he has tried to deny it, Derek knows something has changed since the kissing incident, and whatever it is has had a particularly irritating effect on the emotions in Derek's chest.    
  
Sharing Derek’s bed for a night is objectively  _ not fine _ .

They play the movie and after a while Stiles seems to fall asleep, rolling over onto Derek's chest and snoring a little into his shirt. It sends a shiver of something down Derek's spine, and his breath shortens. Although he tries to move as little as possible so Stiles doesn't wake up, Derek can't help the feeling in his gut and what it does to his breathing patterns. It is decidedly not his fault.

Eventually he gives into every urge he can't reason against and curls his arm around Stiles’ waist, resting his own head on top of the soft brown hair of the man in his arms. He breathes in and can't help closing his eyes, and it's such a sweet kind of peaceful Derek never even knew he craved. It seems like it could go on forever.

It can only be sweet for so long. Soon the taste turns sour, and Derek remembers that this boy in his arms is a boy he can’t have, and there are people working on his ceiling downstairs and even things that seem to last forever must end eventually. The work must be done soon, and he will have to pay the plumbers, and Stiles always hates sleeping in jeans. 

Eventually Derek has to snap out of it, lifting his head nudging Stiles lightly to wake him up.

“Hey sleepy,” He says softly, not wanting to wake Stiles abruptly, “You should get into pajamas. The movie’s over, I’m going downstairs to talk to Boyd.”   
  
Stiles groans, lifting a hand to rub aggressively at one of his eyes, but he nods and starts rolling out of bed.   
  
It’s two a.m. when Derek checks the stove in the kitchen on his way to the guest room, and Boyd and the rest of them are just leaving. “What’s the story?” Derek asks as he walks toward the plumbers, absently pawing through his wallet for payment.   
  
“Water’s stopped, but your landlord’s going to  have to have some major work done on that apartment upstairs. Make sure to let him know he can call us for it.”   
  
Derek hands Boyd money before crossing his arms and nodding. “Will do. And thank you, Boyd, seriously. I couldn’t have called anyone else this late.”   
  
“You owe me one, Hale.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of my apartment,” Derek says, but he’s clearly joking even as he shoos the boys out of the door. “You all need some rest.”   
  
“Goodnight, Derek.”   
  
“Night, Boyd; boys.”   
  
Derek walks slowly back up to his loft only to find Stiles passed out on his bed, sprawled out and half naked. He’s kind of taken aback, feels out of place, like he’s intruding on his own bedroom, and as much as he would give anything to crawl into bed with him like this, Derek knows he can't. So he pulls some sleep pants out of his dresser and retreats to the bathroom to change. 

While he’s putting on his pants, Derek calls out the door of the bathroom, hoping Stiles will wake up and hear him. “Did you change?”   
  
“Yes, Dad,” Stiles shouts back, sarcastic. “It’s hot in here, okay? Don’t judge me and my Star Wars boxers, it’s late.”   
  
“Whatever you say,” is all Derek can manage to push out of his mouth, trying to get his brain to focus on anything other than the image he just saw of those exact boxers.

When he walks back into the room, Stiles is fast asleep in the same sprawled out position, snoring on the intake of breath every so often. There's a warmth in his stomach Derek can no longer ignore, and as creepy as he knows it is, he can't help the soft smile that spreads across his face as he watches Stiles rub at his nose in his sleep. 

Maybe the affection Derek has always felt for Stiles was platonic, was innocent, but he knows now that it isn't anymore. And maybe it hasn't been for quite a while now. 

Derek doesn't know how long he's been denying it, when Stiles stopped being just a friend and started also being a crush, or why Derek's feelings changed, but he can't deny that they have anymore. If there's anything Derek knows for sure, it's that the day in Stiles’ living room, when they first kissed, was the beginning of the end of Derek's stage of denial. 

Maybe it was also the beginning of his inner torment, Derek thinks as he crawls into bed beside the cause of such obvious cruelty. Stiles -- as though he knows even through sleep what Derek is thinking -- immediately curls into Derek, curling his hands in his shirt. The motion only serves to send another sharp pang to Derek's heart, but he curls into Stiles anyway, because what he doesn't know won't hurt him, and his sub-conscious is clearly consenting to absent affection. 

Derek furrows his brows. He's been too much in his own head, but only because he can't seem to get Stiles out. 

“But it's just so pretty in here,” Derek imagines Stiles replying before he drifts off to sleep. 


	5. "I could get used to waking up next to you, actually."

The next few happen in relatively quick succession throughout the day, each in seemingly innocuous areas of conversation, all of which throw Derek completely off. 

 

 

**_5\. a)      "I could get used to waking up next to you, actually._ **

 

The first is when Derek's eyes drift open the next morning, with Stiles still curled up in his arms, staring up at him. It's a little jarring, but there's an unwavering happiness that accompanies it, just knowing that Stiles has been awake for a while and yet hasn't felt the need to leave Derek in bed. For a moment, Derek allows himself to pretend it means something. 

“Hey,” Derek forces himself to say, because there's only so long that you can sit in silence, cuddled up with someone and staring into their eyes after sleeping together before you cross the point of no return. He'd rather avoid that today.

Stiles smiles softly in return, giving him a small “Hey,” in return.

“How'd you sleep?”

Softly, Stiles hums. “Good. Really good.” He shifts positions, and for a moment Derek is worried he's going to get up, but instead he just curls further into Derek's arms. “And you?”

“Great. Company’s alright I guess.”

“Oh ha-ha,” comes the sarcastic reply, “very funny Derek.” He hums again, rubs at his eyes for a second. “I could get used to waking up next to you, actually. You want coffee?”

Derek nearly chokes on his own spit. When everything settles into Derek's head he nearly dies. Stiles has killed him with casual early-morning sleepy words, and it's a good way to go.

It's incredible, actually, that Stiles can drop a bomb like that and so swiftly move on to the subject of morning caffeine. Derek could hate him for it, he really could. But he doesn't. It would solve a lot of his problems though.

 

 

**_5\. b)     "You're so cute when you're half asleep like this."_ **

 

The next one comes not ten minutes later, when Derek has conveniently forgotten that waking up is something you need to commit to, and has instead let his eyelids drift closed again. 

Stiles is still enclosed in his arms, he can tell even through his groggy state, and is drawing circles on Derek’s chest. He could fall asleep again this way, except for the fact that he doesn’t want to miss a second of what’s happening. Stiles hums lightly, and then casually says, “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this…” as though it wouldn’t drive Derek completely mental.

It’s the kind of domesticity to it that hurts the most -- the fact that in another world, this  _ could _ be Derek’s life. He  _ could _ wake up to this all the time. But he doesn’t, and he can’t, and it will probably never happen like this again.

 

**_5\. c)      "You're beautiful, you know that?"_ **

 

This one comes when Derek is doing nothing but cooking them a late breakfast, a saucepan in one hand and salt in the other, admittedly shirtless and wearing his blue and green plaid pajama pants. 

The words fall out of Stiles’ mouth like they were meant to be there, and when Derek turns around the younger man is leaning against the doorway of the kitchen with his arms crossed, no look of mischief on his face.

Derek's blush rises immediately and he turns away, shouting back a “fuck off,” and immediately changing the subject to whether or not Stiles wants onion in his omelette.

 

**_5\. d)      "Watch this."_ **

 

Later, when they're gaming a little, Stiles happens to sit closer to Derek than usual. It's fine, Derek tells himself. He yells at his own head to ignore it. 

They're playing COD, doing their best to kill each other as many times as possible, when Stiles turns his head, says “Watch this,” and kisses Derek’s cheek.

His thumbs stop working.

Derek tries his very best not to look too freaked out, tries not to look like his heart just tried to catapult out of his chest. His cheek is burning.

Stiles’ laugh breaks him out of his daze. “Oh my God. I've killed you like, three times in a row now, dude, pay attention.”

The next couple hours are devoted solely to Derek wondering whether Stiles knows about his feelings, or why the hell he would decide to kiss Derek's cheek other than to win. How would he know it would work?

 

 

_**5\. e)       "You are ridiculously comfortable."** _

 

An hour or two later, they’re sitting on the sofa, flipping through channels, and Stiles sits essentially on top of Derek on the couch. Derek does his best not to be jostled and continues flipping through shows until he finds Criminal Minds.   
  
“You’re aware I’m not part of the couch, right?” Derek says, lightheartedly, only looking briefly away from the TV.   
  
He feels Stiles shrug from  _ on top of him. _ “Yeah. Is it clear that I don’t care yet?” Stiles jokes in return, curling up into Derek further.   
  
“You know,” Derek starts, even as he curls a blanket up between the both of them, “you have a habit of making yourself at home not only everywhere you go, but specifically on top of me. You’re on me a lot.”   
  
“Yeah, dude,” Stiles says, pulling more of the blanket from Derek and curling further into his chest, “didn’t anyone ever tell you?”   
  
“What?”   
  
Stiles doesn’t even look at him. “You are ridiculously comfortable.”   
  
Derek can’t help the laughter that follows, with the warm feeling spreading through his chest. 

  
  


_**5\. f)      "Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."** _

 

This one is arguably the most painful. 

They're having yet another playful argument, from opposite sides of the apartment, about whether the smell of wet dog is worse than what the guest room smelled like the night before.

“I think I'd know, I had a dog once,” Stiles calls from the kitchen, where he's grabbing a Coke from the fridge. “Rain was the genuine bane of my existence.”

“For a week. The bane of your existence for a week.”

“It was more than a week, Derek! I loved that dog with all of my heart.”

“For ten days.”

“ELEVEN, Derek!”

“Eleven days,” Derek deadpans from where he's standing by the wall of the living room, arms crossed. “Do you even remember what you named it?”

Stiles scoffs. “Duh,” he shoots back, but he pauses for a while without answering Derek's question with an actual name. The pause just continues.

So of course, Derek decides he needs a prompt. “What was it then, Stiles? Please tell me, I miss him so very much.”

“It was, uh, you know, complicated.”

“You named your dog Complicated?” Derek laughs loudly, if only to be obnoxious.

“NO, DEREK, SHUT UP. His name was… uh,” he pauses again. “Oh for fucks sake. Greg?”

Derek laughs again. “You named a dog Greg?”

“No, no! It was uh… Fuck. Graye! It was Graye!”

“That's less awful. You are pretty bad at naming things though,” Derek says smugly as Stiles walks closer, rolling his eyes.

“Piss off.”

Derek just smirks harder, if possible. Stiles just continues walking closer, and he doesn't stop. “Remember that one time you named -- I think it was a turtle we saw up at your cottage -- you named it like--”

The two of them have gotten very close when Stiles says, mischief in his eyes but still assuming a playful tone, “Oh, shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you.”

Derek laughs nervously as Stiles waltzes away to sit on the couch, and when he invites Derek to sit beside him casually, as though no suggestiveness had been in his voice before, Derek does his best to comply.

He can't speak properly until they're halfway through the next episode of their show.

 

_**5\. g)    "Bite me."** _

 

Not even an hour later comes similar words, with similar inflection and similar suggestiveness, in the middle of an argument, from a smug Stiles. 

“Bite me,” he says, shockingly close to Derek once again, and poor Derek can only do his best to avoid pretending the words came in a different circumstance.   
  
It doesn’t work well and the images that plague him for the next hour are a painful torment.


	6. "Are you implying that you want to kiss me again?"

Hours later, around 11pm, when Stiles and Derek are sitting on the balcony of Derek's apartment after stuffing themselves full of Chinese delivery, Derek decides he has done well at ridding his mind of inappropriate thoughts of his best friend. They're sitting on the railing of the balcony, which is definitely not safe -- and Stiles doesn't have a shirt on anymore, which is arguably less safe, for Derek at least-- just staring at the busy street below. 

They've been arguing about comics for about twenty minutes straight when Derek inevitably admits defeat, laughing even as he loses. Stiles cracks a huge smile, his dimples showing, and Derek is suddenly reminded of every single thought he's tried to throw into the proverbial garbage can since realizing he's not just platonically into Stiles. His smile makes his whole face just… shine. It’s a beautiful smile, and it’s hard for Derek, realizing he never wants to go a day in his life without seeing it -- and he wants to be the one that put it there.

He should look away, but he's not fast enough. Stiles catches his eyes on the uptake, and his brows furrow like he's trying to puzzle out exactly what Derek's angle is.

Derek prays he never figures it out.

“Hey, so,” Derek starts, without remembering making the decision to start speaking, “remember at your house a couple weeks ago--”

“I sure do.” Even as he cuts Derek off, Stiles is hard to read right now. He's abrupt but not upset, laughter in his voice but not malicious. He knows they both know what they're talking about -- what they haven't talked about since -- the day they kissed.

Derek continues anyway. “I just wanted to make sure it happened. Kind of thought I dreamt it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says with another slight chuckle, “me too. Funny how stubborn we are though right?” Because it's the only thing he can think to do, Derek nods his agreement before Stiles continues. “You don't think it's weird or anything, do you?”

This is where Derek fumbles. His heart is going wild even with memories of that day, even talking about it with Stiles is making his nerves shoot through the roof.

He can't say yes, because that will very obviously create all sorts of problems for the pair of them. Not to mention, it definitely wasn't weird, even before the whole Gay-For-Stiles Revelation of the Century, and he doesn't want to lie or make Stiles self conscious.

On the other hand, Derek can't say no too enthusiastically either, or Stiles will definitely figure him out. He's a smart kid, he probably knows already and is only being nice.

Well fuck. Derek is completely screwed. One hundred percent, six-ways-from-Sunday, fucked the hell over. Does his answer even matter at this point?

He's taken too long to reply. Stiles’s brain is probably already going berserk. “No it -- it wasn't weird,” Derek manages, grimacing at himself. “I mean, it was -- it was nice? It wasn't bad, I liked it -- It wasn't weird, I don't think, no.”

Good one, Derek. On the ball, as usual.

“Well that's good, I think?” Stiles laughs. Outright, just plain starts cackling. “Dude you're so red right now! Chill, it was just a question.”

Derek feels his face get even hotter. “You know, pointing out that my face is red isn't going to make me any less flustered,” he shoots back, looking away.

“Oh come on, Derek, you’re socute when you blush.”

Honestly, it might be better to just cut his own ears off at this point. Everything Stiles says is inevitably going to embarrass him. Life is over. “Fuck off.”

“No, I liked where this conversation was going, continue.”

“That's it, there's nothing else to say,” Derek says, but he's a little confused as to where Stiles seems to think the conversation is going.

Stiles rolls his eyes, though Derek can only see out of the corner of his eye. “I believe you were about to tell me how good of a kisser I am.” Stiles will always take the prize for smug asshole.  Always.

But two can play at that game. “Oh no, we're not getting into this again.  _ I'm  _ the godlike kisser, remember? You said so yourself, Stilinski. Can't take it back.”

“I never said that!”

Derek throws him a smirk. “You did, I remember. I have it burned into my memory.”

“Aw, for fucks sake, dude.” Stiles throws his head back playfully. “You used to have the worst memory.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Derek sighs lightly, laughing a little at Stiles’ playful hostility. “It was nice, though, if I remember right. You're not bad, I think you're up there with the top three.”

“If you remember right.”

“Exactly.”

The reply from Stiles comes slowly, drawled out in a way that can only mean mischief.  “Derek,” he says, head turning. “Are you implying that you want to kiss me again?”

Once again Derek is forced to stop dead in his tracks. He can't say anything. It's too risky to say yes, he doesn't want to say no, so he just… doesn't. He keeps looking at Stiles, and he knows there's either panic or embarrassment or excitement plastered plainly on his face but he can't force himself to care.

Stiles ends up kissing him anyway. 


	7. "Isn't this amazing?"

Kissing on the railing of a 14-storey balcony is probably not the best idea when the person you're currently locking lips with kind of intoxicates you and also can't stop giggling. Derek and Stiles nearly fall over the edge before they realize it's a bad idea, splitting apart to laugh a little and hop off the railing before Stiles is pulling Derek in again. 

There's nothing that can contain Derek’s enthusiasm. He instinctively pulls Stiles in by his hips, backing up through the open sliding door back into his apartment. Stiles gives a little moan into Derek's mouth and seemingly tries to pull himself in even closer. 

Eventually Stiles smirks, grabbing the hem of Derek's shirt and pulling it over his head. He tosses it in any direction with to regard as to where it lands, instead focusing feveriously on getting his mouth back on Derek’s.

They end up with Stiles, smirking, pinned against a wall by a panting Derek, who shakes his head at the smug one before leaning in to kiss at his collarbones. 

Stiles laughs, a few soft pleasure noises escaping with it. “Jesus Derek, you're fucking -- holy shit,” a hand makes its way into Derek's hair, “you're very eager.” He laughs again.

Derek pulls back to speak, tearing his eyes away from the delicious sight of Stiles’ chest. “I thought I was never going to get to do this,” he says, because it's true, and then he can’t help kissing him again, chasing  the warmth of Stiles’ tongue.   
  
In a heated frenzy, the pair fumble their way up the stairs, grasping at each other as they go. Stiles can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, particularly favouring Derek’s hair. The clawing and pulling actually feels ridiculously good.   
  
Derek’s brain is yelling at him. He can’t focus, is too busy with the way Stiles’ ass feels in his hands, but he hears mental red alerts going off.   
  
__ Wait.  
  
Stiles pulls Derek by his pants again, pulling away from his mouth so he can push Derek back onto his bed. Before Derek has the brain to say anything, or to ask anything, or to even comment, Stiles is undoing the button and pulling them down, and the image is so nice that Derek can’t tell himself to move.   
  
The sight of Stiles between his thighs, kissing up down his bare stomach to the top of his boxers is enough to put him on the edge right then and there. Stiles tucks a few fingers under the waistband, briefly stopping his wet kisses to look up at Derek with a smirk. It’s too much. It’s not enough.    
  
And then Stiles is pulling down the boxers too, and Derek can’t say he doesn’t want this, of course he does. But something in his head is yelling at him.   
  
_ Slow down. _   
  
There’s nothing wrong with what is going on, nothing wrong with Stiles, nothing wrong with Derek. He isn’t even uncomfortable. He wants this. He wants this badly.   
  
But somehow he knows that this isn’t going to end well.   
  
Deep down, he knows Stiles isn’t thinking of this the same way he is.   
  
This isn’t happening because Stiles likes him, or wants to date him, or because they’re finally going to be together.   
  
This is happening because Stiles wants Derek for a fuck. Wants his body and his friendship  __ maybe, nothing more.   
  
Derek has realized all of this in the time it has taken Stiles to throw his underwear on the floor, and he can’t help it when he says, “Wait.”   
  
Stiles freezes. Everything in his body stops, Derek can see it. He is suddenly panicked and frozen, unable to escape from the moment of terror and embarrassment Derek just put him in. “I’m sorry, I-” He starts saying, and he’s trying to cover up how terrified he is. “I didn’t -- fuck, I thought -- I’m so, so sorry --”   
  
“No,” Derek cuts him off, because in that amount of time he’s decided. This is something they both want, and even if they want it for different reasons, that’s okay. Derek can handle that.   
  
He’s okay with whatever pieces of Stiles he’s allowed to have. If that means friendship and quick sex, sure. He’d give Stiles anything.

“I’m going to go get a condom, I only have them in my wallet. Relax,” Derek forces himself to say, and it’s easy. It’s easy pretending they can still be friends through this. It’s so fucking easy.  
  
He watches as everything in Stiles relaxes. His entire face, though it didn’t look extremely pained before, suddenly goes a lot more slack, and only then is it clear how tensed he really was. “Oh jesus, dude, don’t scare me like that.”   
  
Derek just gives him an easy laugh as he walks by naked. “Sorry,” he says, and though he’s sincere, it still comes out as a bit of a joke.   
  
A laugh sounds from upstairs in return as Derek grabs a condom from his wallet and lube from a dresser. “Asshole!” Stiles calls down, and it’s just so _easy_. It would be so easy, so good, so smooth if they were just --   
  
No. He can’t think like that. Friends with benefits is all he needs, and he can do that.  
  
Stiles doesn’t have to know what he’s thinking.  
  
When he returns, Stiles still has his pants and underwear on, which Derek sternly tells him is “unfair,” before he helps Stiles join the naked party for two. Because it’s Stiles, he stumbles a bit out of his jeans, but he looks beautiful in doing it anyway, and his ass looks fucking fantastic when he’s leaning on the edge of the bed for support.  
  
Derek only laughs lightly and helps him up, to which Stiles rolls his eyes. “Laughing at me even in bed, huh?” He says, and Derek can only smirk. “Come on, I still haven’t blown you yet.”  
  
Once again, Derek winds up with his bare ass on his own bed, and Stiles between his legs, except this time Stiles is speaking. “God, you are fucking gorgeous, you know that? Your dick, dude, for real.”  
  
Derek only rolls his eyes, but then Stiles’ are meeting his own like they’re asking permission and Derek can only give him a slight nod before there’s a warm mouth on the tip of his cock and he feels a shiver to the end of his toes.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” spills out of his mouth, he can hear it distantly, but he doesn’t remember saying it, and then there’s a hand on the base of his dick and he forgets the English language.  
  
If Derek is a Godlike kisser, then Stiles has him beat for dick sucking. In some part of his head, Derek has always known Stiles had the perfect lips for it -- and maybe he should have clued into his huge gay revelation sooner for all the times he spent too long looking at Stiles’ mouth, or the one-too-many times he’s had to excuse himself to the bathroom after watching Stiles eat a red popsicle.  
  
The real thing cannot be beat. Derek has had more sexual partners than he’d care to admit, and now all of them seem like a waste of time. It seems like they were all just practice runs for Stiles. Just preparation for the day shit gets real and Derek gets his mind sucked out through his cock.  
  
“You are incredible,” Derek says, a bit louder than he means to. Stiles’ mouth is glossy around Derek’s dick, already red and swollen. He’s looking up, while Derek has one hand threaded through his hair, and it’s the best sight Derek has ever seen. Better than any porn. He wants to document it in any way he knows how.   
  
Pulling off with a ridiculously obscene pop, Stiles licks the underside, like he knows exactly how to take a man apart.  
  
It’s too much. Derek feels his entire body tense, feels adrenaline running through him, and all he can do is breathe out, “Stiles,” who happily obliges with another few short pulls on Derek’s pulsing dick. “Please,” he manages to say, albeit weakly, and Stiles hums around the skin.  
  
Derek comes undone. He spills into Stiles’ mouth, who opens up and waits with his tongue out. That pushes him over the edge, and he sees white as he comes more than he ever has before.  
  
After a few moments, when he’s recovered, he pulls Stiles up lightly by his hair to kiss him, and Stiles laughs a little into his lips. Derek leans back and Stiles takes that as the obvious invitation it is, climbing on to straddle him on his bed.  
  
“Holy fuck,” Derek says, pulling away for a moment because he needs to breathe some more, and also because he can’t help but stare at Stiles when he looks like this. Lips red and swollen, hair wildly out of place, straddling Derek’s bare stomach, dick hard. Stiles seems to know, just smiling at him in return. “Where did you learn to do that?” He can’t stop himself from asking.  
  
Stiles just gives a light hearted shrug in return. “This isn’t my first time at the rodeo.”  
  
“Clearly,” Derek replies with a small laugh, still a little breathless. “You are fucking incredible,” he says again, softer this time.  
  
“Dick sucking. It’s a talent.”  
  
It’s a little painful, knowing that Stiles thinks that’s all Derek meant, and knowing he can’t correct him.   
  
Stiles ends up riding Derek’s dick, moaning  out expletives every time he gets the chance. Derek continues to fuck up into him, but is determined to pull Stiles down by his jaw or his shoulders. At least a kiss will shut him up, though Stiles continues to moan against  Derek’s lips, which just ends up being even hotter anyway.   
  
“Holy fuck,” Stiles yells again when he pulls away from Derek’s open mouth, “You’re so hot, I -- fuck Derek, yeah -- harder.”  
  
Stiles hands drag along Derek’s chest, and in combination with Stiles’ words, Derek ruts into him harder. Their rhythm has become uneven, and with a quick thought, Derek flips them over, arms caging either side of Stiles’ head. Stiles’ legs instinctively move up on Derek’s chest, who ducks down to suck and bite at where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder. Every time Stiles’ hands rake across the scar on Derek’s shoulder, he has to bite his lip.  
  
“God, you’re even better in bed than I imagined,” Stiles says with his eyes closed, and it sends a shock down Derek’s spine.  
  
“Oh,” Derek pants out a little, “So you’ve imagined me in bed?”  
  
Stiles opens his eyes to smirk up at him, and gives his reply slowly. “Oh definitely. And in the shower,” Derek punctuates with a particularly hard thrust, to which Stiles gives a blissful moan, “And on the couch, and on the kitchen counter.”  
  
“Fuck,” is all Derek can say in return, breathless as he realizes both contexts to Stiles’ words, and he speeds up his pattern, earning him another gasp from the man beneath him.  
  
Even after the gasp, Stiles’ mouth hangs open, and he runs his hands up Derek’s back and into his hair to pull him back down, breathing, “I’m close,” into his ear.  
  
Any rhythm Derek once had is thrown out the window, and he switches angles to find Stiles’ prostate. He’s faster and more irregular than he was before, and every thrust is earning him another delicious noise from Stiles’ -- evidently sinful -- mouth.   
  
Stiles comes with a gasp onto his own stomach, and Derek pulls out to follow only seconds later.  


The afterglow is blissful, and Stiles instinctively curls up onto his chest, drawing circles once more. It’s a perfect mirror to that very morning, with only the best changes to his and Stiles’ relationship.   
  
Breaking the post-coital silence, Stiles gives a pleasant hum, laying his head onto Derek’s arm. “Isn’t this amazing? I mean, we couldn’t have wished for a better setup, bro.” Stiles says, and Derek is suddenly reminded that this isn’t everything it was supposed to be.   
  
This is a friends-with-benefits setup for Stiles. Derek wants romance, and Stiles doesn’t.    
  
Derek swallows that bitter pill without Stiles noticing, and replies as enthusiastically as he can. If it comes out a little soft, or a little slow, or a little somber, Derek can just blame it on the afterglow and being out of energy. “Yeah.” It doesn’t seem like enough, so he continues. “This was nice. We should do it again sometime.”   
  
It’s not his fault if it spills out of his mouth like it tastes bad.   
  
But he doesn’t regret any of it. Derek can survive like this. He’ll take any kind of relationship with Stiles that he can get.   
  
Even if it kills him.  
  
They wake up the next morning as usual, a slow Sunday, dancing around each other, dancing around the subject of sex. They don’t talk about it. They silently agree to pretend they  _ didn't  _ just have the most amazing sex last night. They agree to denounce every filthy thing they said to each other.   
  
It’s almost worse than it was before. Derek can’t look at his bed without wanting to vomit, even after Stiles is gone. He changes the sheets, throws them in the laundry, doesn’t go upstairs for the rest of the day. He locks the sliding door to the balcony, as though that’ll change anything, and spends the rest of his time pretending life doesn’t exist.


	8. "Do you want to bet on that?"

They don’t see each other for a couple days, which is pretty unusual for them, but on Wednesday, Stiles gives him a call for company while his dad is at work. “Scott is out with Allison again,” he explains over the phone, “but Erica’s in for a movie night. I just texted Isaac, too.”   
  
“Sure,” Derek forces himself to say, because they’re going to continue as normal, as best friends, and he’s okay with that. “I’ll be over in ten.”   
  
When he gets there, Erica and Isaac are laughing loudly in the living room with Netflix set up on the TV. They seem to immediately know what Derek is wondering as soon as he’s in the door, because Erica breaks in her laughter to tell him that Stiles is in the kitchen.   
  
Derek thanks her and wanders in freely. The kitchen is cleaner than it usually is when he leans against the wall, and he can’t help staring at Stiles’ shoulders as he stirs whatever is in the pan he’s holding over the stove.   
  
“Yo,” he says, if only because he knows it’s going to jostle Stiles a little.   
  
As expected, Stiles jumps, turning around before breathing out and relaxing a little. “Oh, hey dude.”   
  
“What’s up?” Stiles just holds up the pan, and Derek rolls his eyes. “What are you making?” he tries again.   
  
Stiles laughs a little. “Stir-fry. Wanna try some?”   
  
Nodding as he walks closer, Derek moves to stand to the left of the stove while Stiles lifts the spoon up to his mouth. He expected to do it on his own, maybe with his own fork or something, but Stiles doesn’t even blink as he shoves the wooden spoon into Derek’s mouth.   
  
Stiles has always been a good cook, but the stir-fry is even better than expected. Derek closes his eyes and lets out a soft noise. “Mm. That’s pretty good.”   
  
“Thank you,” Stiles replies, and he’s clearly poking fun. Together they dish the food onto plates for themselves, and Stiles yells into the living room that dinner is ready and for Isaac and Erica to come serve themselves.    
  
As they pass through the kitchen, there’s a weird look that Derek catches as it passes between Erica and Isaac, though he’s not sure what it means. It definitely involves him and Stiles, but it’s hard to decode. Instead, Derek decides to file it away for further inspection later. 

  
After a movie and a half, Erica and Isaac are sitting on each other on the floor in front of the TV, and Stiles has just gotten up to get them a blanket or two and some pillows. Two seconds after he’s out of the room, Derek claims he’s going to go help and follows him out.   
  
“Hey,” he says softly, once he finds Stiles near his linen closet.    
  
Stiles turns around, surprised once again. “Oh, hey! You gotta stop doing that, dude, seriously.”   
  
“Sorry.”   
  
The look Stiles sends back at him is confused. “For what?”   
  
“Scaring you.”   
  
“That’s not why you’re saying sorry.”   
  
And he’s right, it isn’t. As always, Stiles knows him just a little too well. He’s been antsy about the whole sleepover thing since it happened, and he can’t help thinking he fucked up somehow. “For the other night, then.”   
  
“Oh don’t bother dude, it’s fine. You wanted it, right?” Derek only nods, though he does do so quite quickly. “Well same here! There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He seems to think for a moment before continuing. “Do you want to do it again?”   
  
“Not right now!”   
  
“No, obviously not right now, Derek. I mean in general.”   
  
It’s more complicated of a question than it seems, so Derek does his best to avoid it. “I don’t think we can keep it up for very long without everyone finding out.”   
  
Stiles’ face is completely unreadable. “Would that be a bad thing?” 

There’s a moment while Derek thinks about that. He doesn’t really know the answer there, either. “No, I guess not. It’s your choice. I still don’t think we’d make it very long.”

“Do you want to bet on that?” Comes Stiles’ predictably mischievous reply, accompanied, of course, by a smirk.   
  
They come back with the blankets suspiciously late, but Erica and Isaac are asleep anyway.   


  
So continues their friendship. Everything moves back into place, with them occasionally turning regular hangouts into opportunities for sex. It works better than Derek thought it would have, and he finds ways to survive his late-night loneliness on days when all he wants from Stiles is to call him his boyfriend.

 

 

 

 

_**8\. b)      "Are you leaving?"** _  


  
The second time it happens, Derek is over at Stiles’ house to keep him company while his father has an overnight shift, once again. It’s Friday, so it’s been under two days since they last saw each other.  
  
_Law and Order: SVU_ is playing on the TV when Derek lets himself in, and Stiles only looks briefly up from the screen to greet him. “Wanna bring me some snacks?”  
  
“It’s your house,” Derek says, even as he starts walking to the kitchen.  
  
He can almost hear Stiles rolling his eyes. “As if you don’t know where the snack cupboard is. Doritos, please.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” The kitchen is messier than usual, probably because Stiles got home from school under an hour ago and immediately made himself some food. Derek has spent a lot of his life in Stiles’ house, and has definitely felt just as at home here as he does in his mom’s house or his own apartment.  
  
Now there’s a different feel to the house, and though he and Stiles are both busy pretending nothing has changed, there’s no way for Derek to ignore how different the atmosphere is. He doesn’t know _exactly_ what it means, but he keeps forgetting where they put things in Stiles’ kitchen, which seems like, after all these years, a failure of some kind. His brain is so clearly focused on something else, so obviously distracted with colliding attitudes that he’s forgetting everything else.  
  
Derek’s mind feels messier than the kitchen he’s standing in, as cliche as it is.   
  
Finally, when he’s found the bowls and the snack cupboard and the napkins all over again, he walks back to the living room and wordlessly hands them over to Stiles before sitting down beside him.  
  
“Mmf,” Stiles says, through a handful of Doritos he’s just shoved in his mouth, “What took you so long? Did you get lost?”  
  
Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “Ha-ha, very funny.” _Ex Machina_ is pulled up on the TV by Stiles as Derek sits down, he hums his agreement with Stiles’ choice. He hasn’t seen it yet, but he’s heard it’s good.

Of course, he doesn’t get much chance to watch it anyway. Only a quarter or so into the movie, Stiles is already curled up into him, and Derek just takes the liberty to shift him into his own lap. They’re just lying there together, watching the movie for a while, until Stiles is turning around and staring at Derek like it means something, but he knows it doesn’t, like Stiles knows it will kill Derek and does it for fun.    
  
And then Stiles is looking at Derek’s mouth every so often, and then the movie gets quieter. 

And then Stiles is licking his lips and Derek instinctively licks his own and then they’re kissing and maybe Ex Machina is not the most romantic movie but Derek’s never seen it anyway.   
  
Kissing turns into lying on the couch, Derek’s hips in between Stiles’ thighs, and it’s mostly sweet at first, mostly slow -- until Stiles is pulling him down closer, like he needs more, and Derek has already been proved as someone unable to say no to Stiles.    
  
They end up fucking again on Stiles’ couch, and there are moans that sink into every fabric of the house until Derek is sure he’ll never be able to step foot in there again without immediately thinking of Stiles’ face as he came.

It's only when Derek wakes up an hour later that he realizes they fell asleep together, legs intertwined, Stiles’ face pressed into Derek’s neck. It hurts, as everything does with Stiles recently. Derek does his best to shake off the feeling. 

He leaves a little while later. The sheriff doesn’t come back until 8a.m., but Derek figures Stiles needs his sleep.

Stiles rolls over on the couch, half asleep, and he's reaching for something as Derek gets up. Derek, of course, refuses to let himself wonder what Stiles’ sub-conscious has decided he's missing. 

When Derek is actually sliding on his pants, Stiles seems to open his eyes a little, tilting up his head, watching Derek, confused. He seems to force himself to wake up, ripping himself from sleep. 

Derek simply walks out of the room to go brush his teeth, but Stiles’ voice follows him. “What are you doing?” He’s still half asleep, his voice lazy. 

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you leaving?”

Derek grits his teeth. “Yeah, there’s uh-- a couple things I need to do at home. I forgot. Sorry.”

It hurts even more that Stiles sounds dejected. “Oh. Yeah, okay, no problem. I'll see you later?”  
  
“Sure,” Derek says, and then he's out the door. 


	9. "I have a very clear bias about what I want my mouth to be doing."

A week or so later, Stiles calls him, sounding irritated. “Hey, is your house free?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies, looking around to make sure it's clean enough, if only because this phone call is a good indicator that Stiles is probably already around the corner. “Why?”

“Somebody at school really pissed me off. I need to let off some steam. That cool with you?”

Admittedly, Derek's reply comes without much forethought. “Yeah, sounds fun.”

When Derek thinks “let off some steam,” he thinks of when he and Stiles used to throw up empty cans of Coke or beer and hit them with baseball bats repeatedly until the aluminum smashed. Clearly, Stiles’ present idea of “letting off some steam” is much different. 

Derek opens the door to a Stiles who looks mildly teary-eyed, whose hands are clenched into fists, whose eyebrows are pulled together in a frown. It's an unnatural state for a guy Derek has known all his life to resort to comedy. 

“What happened--” 

The full sentence doesn't make its way out of Derek's mouth, instead interrupted by Stiles’ own. He looks angry but his mouth is soft, and Derek melts into it like usual. 

He forces himself to back up a bit, even as his arm is around Stiles’ waist to pull him in closer. Stiles looks wholeheartedly disappointed when Derek's lips leave his. Derek simply tries again. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I'm just pissed off. Can we get back to swapping spit please? I like yours better.”

“That's gross. What happened?”

Stiles sighs. “Greenberg happened. I don't really want to talk about it, okay? His personality is like Jimmy Kimmel with a cactus up his ass, and you are hot as hell. I have a very clear bias about what I want my mouth to be doing.”

“Oh,” Derek says, and he can't help it when his eyebrow raises. “Do you?”

“Let's just say I would much rather have a literal dick  _ in _ my mouth than talk about a dick  _ with _ my mouth.”

“You seem to be grasping for straws here. Usually your jokes are much better.”

“Derek, your fully erect penis is pressing against mine through three layers of clothing too many, okay? I'm sorry if I can't muster up my usual level of impressive wit.”

He can't help the laughter that comes. “Yeah right. Three layers? I'm not sure ‘impressive wit’ is an appropriate term if you can't count.”

It's Stiles’ turn to laugh, though it's much more genuine, much less sarcastic. “I'm not wearing any underwear, genius.”

And though Derek has had multiple internal monologues about why what he and Stiles are doing is bad for his health, he ignores every single one of them in favour of picking Stiles up and carrying him to bed, Viking-style.

 

 

**_9\. b)    "It's just a peck on the cheek."_ **

It occurs to Derek, the next time that he and Stiles see each other, that the only time they've hung out since The Incident  and  _ not  _ had sex has been in group settings. And even then, they've broken that rule once too. 

Derek also comes to realize that they probably should have made rules or had a conversation about this before they started everything. With a friendship like theirs it should have been easy to talk it out, figure out what they both want. It should have been easy for Derek to say he couldn't do it because of his feelings for Stiles. Or at least  _ easier _ . 

It's clear to him, the next time he and Stiles hang out, that he genuinely misses their friendship. He sees Stiles all the time, but for some reason it feels like Derek hasn't seen him at all. You shouldn't instinctively miss someone you see all the time, right?

They're in Stiles’ house, yet another day when the sheriff has work, just finishing eating dinner. They move to the couch, planning to play COD until their hands fall off, but halfway through a round Stiles takes his eyes from the screen to kiss the side of Derek's head.

Derek is stunned, if only for a couple seconds. Stiles manages to kill him again, like the first time. 

For some reason, it completely sends Derek back to the month before, when he never even dreamed he would have been touching Stiles like he does now. It makes him almost angry. Not at Stiles, but at life. At the fact that it came out pretty well, but Derek still isn't happy. It should be enough, but it isn't. 

“Hey pal, you awake? I just killed you like, eight times, dude. It's just a peck on the cheek, it's not like I haven't done much worse to you recently.”

Derek nearly chokes. He tries to speak but it doesn't work. Once again it isn't Stiles making him angry, but the situation. It just seems so unfair, so aggravating. 

He can't get out of the mood for the next hour, so eventually he leaves early. Stiles seems disappointed, but Derek bitterly thinks it's probably only because he didn't get an orgasm. 

 

 

_**9\. c)    "We'd be a great team."** _

The next time they see each other is when they go to see the new Marvel movie in theatres together. Of course they've both seen it at least once already, because that's how Marvel movies go for them, but they see it together anyway for something to do. Not to mention, you have to see them at least twice.

Derek doesn't know what he should have been expecting. Maybe he should have known what it would turn into. Maybe it was stupid to think they could enjoy a movie together, even a Marvel one, undistracted. Derek wasn't aware that was too much to ask for. 

To be fair, it's not like he doesn't enjoy getting his dick sucked at the back of a moderately populated movie theatre, but at the same time it feels like there's a line that they've crossed somewhere without Derek knowing. Like he blinked for just a moment and everything changed. Suddenly it seems like they're not friends with sexual benefits anymore, but instead a pair of sex friends who only call on each other to get off. The friendship aside from the sex no longer seems to exist, and every time they hang out turns into a bang session. 

Derek keeps his hands to himself for as long as possible, especially in the beginning. He has an arm on the armrest, and for a moment he forgets who he is and tries to hold Stiles’ hand -- Stiles jerks away and tucks his hand into his lap, but not for long. 

Ten minutes later his fingers are making their way down Derek's chest, and he swears he's never seen Stiles pay less attention to a movie he genuinely liked. But Stiles’ fingers have always been hot as hell, and Derek's willpower is not strong enough even to say no in the back of a semi-crowded movie theatre. 

Still, he keeps his hands to himself. His fingers don't encourage Stiles’ own as he's unbuttoning Derek's pants. His hands do not run through Stiles’ hair as he's leaning over the armrest to get his mouth on Derek’s chest. Derek keeps his hands to himself until he's digging the tips of his fingers into the shoulder blades of the guy he kind of really likes, who happens to be sucking him off somewhere public. 

If Derek curses under his breath, he prays no one hears it. 

When he's come into Stiles’ mouth, not even for the first time in his life anymore, biting into the sleeve of his own shirt and doing his best to make as little noise as possible, it feels like defeat. 

He feels cheated. 

Not that any of it is Stiles’ fault, or Stiles specifically trying to hurt him, but Derek nevertheless feels cheated by life. There is a future he knows he's supposed to have with Stiles and if they continue like this, they're never going to get there. 

Stiles seems to notice him zoning out and whispers to him. “Come on, Der. The movie can't be  _ that _ good, Hawkeye isn't even in it. You and me would probably write better together than these jokers. We'd be a great team. I can see it now: Joss Whedon shitting himself.” He starts laughing to himself, until maybe he realizes the smile Derek is giving him is weak, and then he gets worried. “Derek, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but it's not convincing and he knows it, and it falls out of his mouth like a cynical laugh. “I'm just going to go to the bathroom.”

If the lights were on in the theatre, Derek is sure he would have been able to see Stiles’ eyebrows knitting together with either concern or confusion. But he doesn't argue with Derek, and only briefly tells him to hurry back. 

Derek stays in the bathroom for over fifteen minutes. He can't do anything but regret all of his life choices, every ounce of feeling he has toward his best friend that has only made life hard for him. He curses everything within himself that makes it impossible to let Stiles go, or say no to sex when he should be focusing on friendship. 

In the end, he splashes his face with water a couple times, shakes his head, and wills himself to get out of his own thoughts and the grimy movie theatre bathroom.


	10. "Are you serious?"

Under a week later. 

It’s a month and a half after the original incident that Stiles shows up at Derek’s apartment, two minutes after announcing himself via text, and he goes straight into it. He kisses Derek right off the bat and already has a hand moving up his shirt when Derek has to pull Stiles off him, take a step away.   
  
A million emotions flash across Stiles’ features. Confusion, sadness, anger, more confusion. It breaks Derek’s heart, but he can’t. He just -- it hurts too much.   
  
“I’m sorry, Stiles,” is all he can force himself to say.    
  
When Stiles only looks more broken, more hurt, more confused, more angry, it’s expected. Derek has prepared himself for this. Although he looks like maybe he can’t move, Stiles manages to start with, “What--” before Derek cuts him off.   
  
“We can’t keep doing this.” Every word tastes awful coming out of his mouth, but he can’t stop once the damage is done. “I’m sorry, we can’t. It has to stop.”   
  
Stiles backs up a little, shaking his head. He laughs a little before his eyebrows knit together and he starts staring that the floor. He laughs again, bitter this time. “Are you serious?”

#  ****

**_10\. b)    "You're being ridiculous."_ **

Derek can only nod. It hurts too much to say anything else.    
  
“Okay,” Stiles says, nodding. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine. I get it.”  
  
It’s better once Stiles’ face starts relaxing, easing into something less sad. 

Of course, that makes everything so much harder when Derek has to keep going. “And,” he says, doing best to cover up the struggle it took him to push the words out, “I don’t think we should see each other for a while.”   
  
Stiles looks up at him again, sharply, once more shocked and hurt and confused. “You’re not kidding.”   
  
“Afraid not.”   
  
“Derek, that’s -- fuck,” Stiles swears, and it’s probably supposed to be under his breath but Derek pays attention to it anyway. “Why?”   
  
Derek swallows. It needs to be said at some point, and it’s going to be hard no matter how long he puts it off. He needs a break. He needs to stop emotionally torturing himself. He needs awhile to readjust to just being Stiles’ friend. “We need a break.”   
  
“But  _ why _ ?”   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it. I said I’m out.”   
  
“You’re being ridiculous!” It’s clear that Stiles is angry, eyes welling up like they usually do when he’s this upset. He seems determined not to let any of the tears in his eyes roll down his cheek, though.   
  
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’ll call you.”   
  
He backs up, going right back to the door. He’s shaking his head, and it hurts, God, it hurts. “You know what?” Stiles spits, “Don’t bother.”


	11. "You're a dick, by the way."

It’s a couple days later, when Erica in his house, that Derek hears of Stiles again. They’re just sitting there, eating cookies that Erica made, when she brings him up uninvited.

  
“So you and Stiles, huh?”   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”   
  
Erica looks away. “Okay. I mean, whatever. We can talk about something else.”   
  
“Please.”   
  
“He says you’re a dick, by the way.”   
  
“Erica!”   
  
“Okay, okay,” she says, laughing just a little. “Sorry.”    


  
**_11\. b)  "You're kind of being an idiot."_ **

Not a week later, he and Isaac are out to dinner after doing some work on his aunt’s lawn when he tries his own hand at talking about Stiles.   
  
They’re digging up a huge underground connection of chipmunk tunnels by the tree in her lawn when Isaac sticks his shovel in the ground and wipes at his forehead, looking over at Derek. “Did something happen?”   
  
Of course Derek is confused, at first. “What do you mean?”   
  
“I haven’t seen you and Stiles together for a while, and he’s a little -- you know --”   
  
Derek sighs. Isaac’s not the type of person to drop a conflict like this, especially when he knows it’s an easy fix. Though he should be able to, Derek can’t just shut him down like he did Erica. “I know, Isaac. He’ll be fine.”   
  
Isaac hums, nodding. He wipes at his brows with his glove, a shirt being unavailable at the moment. “He says you’re kind of being an idiot. What did you do?”   
  
“I told him we shouldn’t hang out for a while.”   
  
“Oh,” he says, and he’s confused but he accepts it anyway. When he asks, it’s polite, and it doesn’t bug Derek very much. “Any reason why?”   
  
“Yeah, but-- I don’t know. It’s a long story.”   
  
“Okay. Are you alright?”   
  
“I think so, yeah. I’ll be okay. I hope he will too.”   
  
“Yeah,” Isaac says, and then they’re back to digging.

 

 

**_11\. c)   New phone, who dis?_ **

It's another two weeks before Derek feels comfortable texting Stiles. He wants to apologize, go back to normal. 

After everything, he just misses his best friend.

**Hey**

Derek sends, anxious. He can't remember the last time he or Stiles started a conversation with “Hey,” but it's all that comes to mind right now.

Three hours go by. There’s no reply from Stiles, so Derek tries again.

**I finally bought new sheets for the guest bed**

He figures it's at least common ground for them, something to talk about, but Stiles’ reply comes hours later.

_ cool. hope they feel nice when you go fuck yourself on them _

It's a punch to the gut, obviously, but Derek refuses to let his best friend go and tries again.

**Stiles, please. I'll explain everything.**

And he plans on it, he really does. He plans on telling Stiles how he feels, and what he wants, and why he needed a break, and that he's okay if they're just friends. But the only reply that comes back is:

_ new phone who dis? _

 

_**11\. d)     "You are cordially invited to go fuck yourself."** _

“Hey,” Boyd says, walking into Derek’s apartment behind Erica, who forgoes a greeting in favour of walking directly to Derek’s fridge. “Sorry, Erica dragged me here. I wanted to call first.”

Erica’s reply comes as a shout from the kitchen. “Way to rat me out!” She walks calmly back into the room with a bag of chips in between her teeth and a bucket of dip in her hands. She speaks around the plastic almost too well. “You can't call Derek in advance, he always finds a way out of it.”

Derek only rolls his eyes. “Well you're here now.” Erica sits next to him on the couch, lying down to put her head in his lap. “How have you guys been?”

Boyd picks up Erica's feet to put them in his lap and sit on the other end of the couch. “Good. Got a letter from Stiles today.”

It takes everything in him for Derek to pretend that doesn't make him at least a little interested. He fights to keep his voice level. “What did it say?”

“He told Boyd to give it to you, but I'm busy trying to convince him to frame it instead,” Erica says, smirking up at Derek, who hums.

“Sounds promising. Why did he want you to give it to me?”

The look he receives from Boyd is one he can't figure out. “I don't know. I can't tell if you're supposed to find it funny or if it's actually supposed to offend you.”

It has to be bad, then. After the text responses he received from Stiles there's no way he wants Derek to find anything funny. “I texted him a couple days ago,” he says, because offering up that sort of information seems like the right thing to do.

Erica sits up immediately, then tries to play it off. “Really?

“Yeah, I kept getting shit from Laura so I decided it was time.”

“Laura’s been bugging you about it?” Boyd asks calmly.

It's true. Laura and Stiles have always been weirdly close, since they were kids, and there's no doubt Stiles probably told her everything through text because there's no way Derek did. Offer up incriminating information on his idiotic decisions to his older sister? Derek would rather die. “Yeah. I guess Stiles told her everything because she called me about a week ago and yelled at me for five minutes straight.” It was more like concerned scolding and prodding for motives, but whatever. “Then she texted me a couple days ago asking if I'd talked to Stiles recently.”

“Well?” Erica pries, because that's what she does. “What did he say?”

“Told me to go fuck myself on my new bedsheets.”

Erica bursts into laughter, and Derek supposes he deserves that. Boyd simply smiles a little, probably acknowledging the exact same thing. He speaks first. “At least he replied.”

Derek nods. “At least he replied,” he agrees, because he is thankful. It would have been easy enough not to. “What's the letter?”

Without more hesitation, Boyd pulls it out of his pocket. “I think it's an invite for your sister’s wedding next month. He crossed out part of it in black sharpie and wrote over it.”

“Sounds like him,” Derek scoffs, and Erica hums her agreement.

He wants to know what it says. Of course it's bad, and it will probably hurt, but it's such a Stiles thing to do that it only makes Derek miss him more. He once took a menu from a Thai place called the Red Door just so he could colour over it in black solely for the song reference.

When Boyd hands it over, Derek looks at it and at first can't register what it says. He has to read it a couple times before it sinks in.

“ _ You are cordially invited to  _ **go fuck yourself.** ”

Classic. Admittedly not his best work, and he still really doesn't understand why Stiles wanted given it to him, other than maybe to say he's not going. Or that he has no plans to talk to Derek while he's there.

It's in two months. Derek still has time -- time to recover everything, time to get Stiles to forgive him. And if Stiles doesn't, Derek supposes he has good reason, and at least he knows Stiles would never stop talking to Laura, either. They've known each other since they were kids, all three of them. He wouldn't abandon Laura's friendship just because Derek decided it was time to ruin his own life again.

“Have you guys talked to him?” As usual, Derek doesn't know he's said it until they're already responding.

Boyd nods his head and Erica laughs. “Yeah,” she says, and it's a light-hearted scoff, “but he only talks about you. He's so fucking vague though, I still have no clue what you did.”

“Told him we shouldn't see each other for a while.”

“I know that,” she scoffs again, rolling her eyes. “But it seems deeper than that. Kid’s wrecked, dude, not just pissed. I haven’t really seen him laugh like he does when you're there.”

Another punch to the gut, because apparently Derek is a bag of sand, and life is training for the championship. He doesn't say anything, just to see if Erica keeps going.

“I mean, he tries. He's trying hard to make it seem like nothing happened, like he can have fun without you, but it just seems empty. I don't know.”

Boyd is nodding. Derek doesn't know what to say.

“We’re not going to pick sides,” Erica says, looking up at him, probably the most sincere he's ever seen her. “You guys will be fine.”

He changes the topic and they don't talk about Stiles again for the rest of the time they're in his apartment.


	12. "Fancy meeting you here."

The last place Derek expected to see Stiles again was at the grocery store. But there they are, and Stiles is staring at him in shock from where he's standing at the vegetables, green pepper in his hand. Derek nearly drops the apple he's holding. 

Derek looks immediately away, tries to pretend he didn't notice, but it's hard to ignore someone you just locked eyes with for a full minute. Out of the corner of his vision, Derek sees Stiles roll his eyes and push his cart over. Confusing, but Derek is certainly not one to complain. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Stiles says, and it's clear he's not completely over it, but approaching Derek at all has to mean something. 

Derek can only shrug. “Yeah.”

There's an awkward silence, something that never really used to happen between them. It’s infuriating. “Can you not do this, please?” Stiles sighs, and his voice is much softer. 

“Do what?”

“This,” Stiles repeats, motioning to all of him. 

There's a pause. “You planning on elaborating on that?”

“Nope.” Then Stiles laughs awkwardly, and he does anyway. “I just mean… be all sulky. I don't know, you're -- guilt and regret are wafting out of you. It's really putting a damper on my mood, man.”

Derek doesn't know what to say. He doesn't really understand. He looks up, though, and Stiles is trying to smile.

“It's okay, dude,” Stiles says, and Derek is so relieved to hear the words he might pass out. “I'm pissed off because you're a gigantic asshole, you know that. But it's not like I'm never going to talk to you again. I think we both just needed some time, not a fucking break up. We’ve always been good.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, sincerely, but Stiles rolls his eyes again. 

“Seriously dude, cut that shit out! Your sister’s wedding is in like, two months. If you keep pulling this shit, it’ll be weird.”

“Fine, fine!” Derek says, laughing a little. It feels good. It feels really, really good. 


	13. "I just want to go back to normal, okay?"

It's the start of their recovery. Over the next couple weeks, they hang out in group settings. It gets to the point where they're almost able to hang out on their own, and they're not quite joking about what happened, not there just yet, but it's so much better than before. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off Derek’s shoulders, one he never really knew he was carrying until it was gone. In all honesty, Derek never really knew how much he missed Stiles until he had his best friend back. 

They hang out every couple of days for the next few weeks and it's fine -- except for when Derek catches himself reaching to touch Stiles.

It's not anything too bad, just moving around each other in the kitchen making dinner for themselves and Erica, and Derek has to stop himself from standing too close or putting a hand on Stiles’ waist. They're finally trying this again as friends, and right now that’s more than Derek is willing to risk with their tentative relationship. He’d be willing to live the rest of his life never touching Stiles if it meant they could still be friends -- he’d rather that than mess up and overstep and never see Stiles again.

Five and a half weeks before Laura’s wedding, they hang out for the first time by themselves. It feels easy at first, sinking back into their original routine, and for a moment Derek forgets anything happened between them. Stiles punches his arm in the kitchen while laughing about how buff Derek has gotten, and it feels fine.    
  
“Seriously, dude, I’m gonna start calling you Dwayne,” Stiles says casually, walking out with his Coke, and Derek has to force himself not to visibly breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, with their occasional hangouts, Derek has sort of gotten comfortable again, comfortable enough to forget, but this moment is a milestone.    
  
It’s fine until Derek remembers things aren’t the same. When Stiles sits on the couch first, Derek realizes he’s not sure how close he’s supposed to sit. He settles on an awkward foot apart and tries to make it look like he didn’t just spend a full minute calculating it.

Stiles rolls his eyes again, because apparently that’s the only reaction he can muster these days, but it seems almost endearing. Irritated, but endearing.    
  
“Dude,” he says, like whatever he’s about to say should be obvious. “I’m not the fucking Cryptkeeper, I’m not going to attack you.”   
  
Derek doesn’t say anything, so Stiles sighs and tries again. “Come here. Dude, I’m serious, scooch closer.” 

He physically tries to drag Derek over, but in the end Derek moves of his own accord.

“Listen to me,” Stiles tries a third time, “We are going to fix this. None of this awkward, uncomfortable, unsure-ass type shit, okay? So scooch your fucking toosh over, joke around with me, make fun of me, insult me, and share this damn blanket or so help me God, I will smack you.”   
  
It’s impossible then for Derek to hold in his laughter. Stiles’ face cracks as well, a smile forming on his lips, and his laughter joins Derek’s own.   
  
“So pushy,” Derek says, grabbing some of the blanket and tugging it onto himself.   
  
Stiles elbows his side. “Yeah, well, clearly you need to be told what to do. I just want to go back to normal, okay?”   
  
Derek nods. “Yeah, me too. None of this weird shit anymore.”   
  
“Right.”   
  
And their night proceeds as usual. 

 

 

 

**_13\. b)     "Have you ever met someone so pretty you might explode?"_ **

There isn’t a problem until one day in the next week, Stiles shows up to one of the group’s movie nights talking about a guy named Adam. Everyone is curled up on Erica’s couch, ready to start the movie as soon as Stiles shows up -- it’s not usual for him to be late, but it becomes obvious why.   
  
He volunteers the information, but it doesn’t seem to be a chore for him. He walks in, visibly trying to hide a giddy smile, and when Erica prods him with a suspicious, “What?” the information just pours out of him like a broken dam.   
  
“God, have you ever met someone so pretty you might explode? Guys, I’m serious, I think I might die.”   
  
And because everyone is there and everyone is bored, they’re all immediately interested in what will fall out of Stiles’ mouth next. All except for Derek, who sits on the couch and wonders if it’s more suspicious to pretend to be excited and interested or to pretend not to care. A thousand questions fly at Stiles all at once, and he ignores every single one, offering up the information anyway.   
  
“I just dropped my dad off at work, right? And I went to the convenience store around the corner for some snick-snacks and this guy was -- I don’t even know what he was doing, he was just smoking outside, I guess he was on the phone? You guys don’t understand, he was  _ beautiful _ , and he just nods at me and I’m like -- okay, yeah, sure. That’s a thing guys do. So I go in and I buy my shit and I come back out and he  _ winks at me _ \-- and I’m freaking out at this point, guys, okay? I’m trying not to drop my pants right there on the sidewalk. Anyway he asked me if I wanted to go out for coffee, so yeah. That’s tomorrow.”   
  
“Oh my god!” is all Lydia can say, from the corner, while Erica’s laughing her ass off and Isaac and Boyd are murmuring together in voices too low and too overlapping for Derek to discern. Scott looks like he’s been presented with an actual puppy, and Allison, beside him, looks like the puppy she’s been presented with has a broken leg. She steals a look at Derek, who pretends to be confused.   
  
Derek goes numb, settles on throwing an arm over the back of the couch and just looking at Stiles while he speaks. That’s appropriate, right? That’s reasonable.

 

 

**_13\. c)      "Fine."_ **

When they’re alone together next, half a week after the first mention of Adam, Derek does his very best to talk about anything else. He finds himself praying the date went poorly, then hating himself for wishing Stiles any brand of unhappiness. He sets up Netflix on the TV, makes some popcorn, and wills himself to have the power not to go fucking bananas if Stiles talks about the dreaded convenience store dude.

All due appreciation to Stiles, he’s decent enough to avoid bringing the guy up. Derek doesn’t ask, assumes they didn’t really hit it off, and Stiles is bored of him. 

But then Derek opens up his stupid eyes, actually paying attention when Stiles’ phone buzzes every thirty seconds next to him on the couch, and he completely ignores everything Derek’s saying, face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. He looks genuinely happy, and -- Christ, Derek’s an asshole for hating it.    
  
“Sorry, you were saying?” Stiles says casually, putting his phone down again. He says it like there isn’t a gaping hole in the conversation where Stiles might actually care about someone else’s reply -- who isn’t even in the room -- more than Derek’s own.   
  
It’s a couple seconds before Derek figures out he can’t really swallow that pill without a fight. “Who are you texting?” He asks, completely ignoring everything they were talking about before in favour of keeping his voice level as he questions Stiles’ personal life. Derek prays he sounds genuinely curious.   
  
There’s a lot about this moment that could go wrong.   
  
“Uhh,” Stiles stalls, staring at the phone in his lap. After a few moments, he shrugs. “No one, really. The guy I was talking about earlier this week.”   
  
Derek has to bite his lip to make sure nothing overtly aggressive comes out. He should be happy for Stiles, right? But he just can’t force himself to ignore the burning in his chest. He can’t. “Oh. Do you think maybe you could -- I don’t know, turn off your phone for the night or something?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Well -- if you’re going to watch a movie with me, your mind should be here, watching a movie, with me. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just think it might be more fun if we watch together.” It’s funny he feels the need to backpedal so hard, it really is. Just rich.   
  


“You use your phone all the time when we watch movies together,” Stiles says slowly, suspiciously, eyebrows knitting together.    
  
Derek sighs. “I do not.”   
  
The sharp laugh that he gets from Stiles in return is not warm or pleasant. “Yeah, right. I’ll turn the brightness down, okay? See, it’s fine.” His eyes return to the glowing screen in his hands, and his face relaxes and Derek should be the one easing Stiles’ mind instead of Adam, and he certainly shouldn’t be the one stressing Stiles out. It’s unfair, and he can’t fucking say a thing. It’s a slap to the face to have to be friends with Stiles through everything, to only want to make him happy, and then be ignored in his own house for a boy Stiles has known for days.   
  
“If you’d rather be somewhere else, go ahead.”   
  
As soon as it’s out of Derek’s mouth, he knows it’s too harsh. There’s no backpedalling for this one, and the look on Stiles’ face makes that very clear.    
  
“Fine.”   
  
It’s so easy to regret when you’re watching the consequences of what you’ve done slam your apartment door behind them.


	14. "Are you jealous?"

They don’t hang out alone again, next time. They sit in Erica’s house, and Erica must know the tension between her two friends, but she’s just so good at pretending it doesn’t exist.   
  
“Hey, you guys wanna get some Chinese?” She asks, as though the past two minutes of awkward silence mean nothing for the deteriorating relationship of two boys who can’t get their shit together.   
  
Stiles, from the other side of Erica’s couch, simply shrugs. “Whatever you want, dude. I’m easy.” 

It kills Derek that Stiles sounds casual, too. Is everyone an expert at ignoring issues at this point? It’s exhausting. Derek knows he can only do it for so much longer. “I’m not really hungry, but I’ll tag along.” Casual. Resilient, ignorant, casual.   


Stiles picks up his phone, smile spreading across his face.  
  
This is where Derek turns on his willpower, pushes himself past everything he’s feeling. He can ignore it, he can be happy for Stiles. He takes a deep breath in, feels his chest exhale, and moves on with his life like the fucking adult he is. “We could order in?”   
  
Erica hums. “Good idea. What do you guys want? I’ll call.”    
  
When Erica leaves the room with their order, all the friction comes rushing back into the room, tension settling into the cushions between Stiles and Derek on a couch that’s too small to allow for such weighty obstacles.   
  
The attempt Stiles makes at regular conversation seems pained. “So your sister’s wedding is in like, two weeks.”   
  
“Yeah,” Derek laughs -- warmly, genuinely this time -- because he can get on board with ignoring the space between them. “It’s so weird. I don’t feel ready.”   
  
“When’s the rehearsal?” Stiles asks, but his eyes are to his phone again.   
  
Derek chokes back a sarcastic reply. “The night before. We’ve already seen the location twice, but it’s just so surreal.”   
  
“I’ll bet.” He’s actually looking at Derek this time. It’s a very small victory. “I’m glad it’s Will she’s marrying though, I like him.”   
  
“Me too,” Derek replies, easily, but it feels like there’s nothing to say after that.   
  
After a couple seconds, Stiles having put his phone on the table, he tries again. “Much better than Corban.”   
  
Derek can’t help the easy laugh that falls out of his mouth. “Yeah, God -- what an asshole.”   
  
Stiles laughs too, and that’s a slightly bigger victory. “Seriously! Fuck that guy, honestly. Your sister deserves so much better.” He’s silent for a few moments, and then his eyes light up and he speaks again, much faster this time. “Oh my God, dude, do you remember that time we all went go-karting and Corban was trying to show off and he fucking jumped the wheels? Holy fuck, I forgot about that.”   
  
“All I can see is his face as his car almost tipped over.” Corban had taken a turn too fast, ran up onto the sides of the track, and gotten stuck. At the time, it was fucking priceless. Even Laura was laughing her ass off at him.    
  
They’re laughing together, reminiscing, and it seems like things could almost be normal between them again before Stiles picks up his phone again, and Derek fights back the urge to break it between his fingers.   
  
Stiles should be happy, he chants in his mind.  _ You are not making him happy. Adam is. Accept it. _   
  
Easier said than done.    
  
“So for the wedding, are you going to be the--”   
  
“Are you bringing him?” Derek says, and maybe it comes out a little harsh.   
  
Stiles just looks confused. He shakes his head a little, replying slowly. “I don’t know, dude, I think -- that’s a little fast isn’t--”   
  
“Are you bringing him?”   
  
Something breaks in Stiles and he sighs. Confused was an act. “Are you fucking serious right now, Derek?”   
  
Derek doesn’t say anything. Probably a bad decision that he will regret later.   
  
“I can’t believe you.” Stiles laughs, and once again it’s cold. “You can’t let me be happy for one -- for fuck’s  _ sake, _ Derek. I don’t know if he’s coming to the fucking wedding. And if he were, I wouldn’t tell you. I’ll ask Laura if I bring him, because it’s her wedding and you don’t control me.”   
  
“Fine,” Derek says, and he’s giving in. He’s letting go of the rope, Stiles is right. But the boy in question isn’t ready to stop tugging yet.   
  
“Jesus, are you -- you’re -- are you  _ jealous? _ ”   
  
“No, I’m not--”   
  
“You’re jealous! I can’t fucking believe you! What, you got me as a friend, you got me for a quick fuck, you got what you wanted, now I’m not allowed to be happy with someone else? That’s just rich, dude. The assholes milling about on Wall Street are going green right now, that’s so rich. I can only eat so much because this lobster you’re feeding me is fucking  _ rich _ , dude.”   
  
“I get it, Stiles.”   
  
“Do you? Fuck it. I thought you were above this. I thought our friendship was above this, but clearly it isn’t. You clearly need some more time. Why don’t you go wallow in your self-pity somewhere else, huh? You’re putting a damper on the mood here.”   
  
Derek doesn’t say anything. He’s done playing tug o’ war, Stiles has used the rope to hang him, and now it’s time to take the leash and walk himself home.   
  
He leaves without a word from either of them.    
  
It’s not until he’s back home that he realizes he didn’t tell Erica he was leaving.


	15. "Just ask me already, I know you're dying to."

They don’t speak until the wedding.   
  
At this point, Derek has spent the last two weeks either ignoring every thought about Stiles, or forcing himself to be happy for him and Adam. He does pretty well, too -- he’s gotten to the point where he’s almost excited to meet Adam at the wedding, just to see what Stiles is into romantically.    
  
It’s anxiety inducing, really, to be at the venue hours before the event starts, stressing about the ceremony and his speech and whether Stiles will talk to him. There’s no one to relieve his worries, no one to tell him it’ll be okay, and though his mom senses his uneasiness, she also seems to sense there’s nothing she can say.   
  
Laura glances a look at him every so often before she goes to get changed, wordlessly chastising him for being such a dick to his former best friend.   
  
Weeks ago, they had a conversation about Stiles wherein Laura seemed to have way too much faith in both her little brother and her pseudo-little brother. “You guys will be fine,” she had promised, “as long as you stop being an idiot. He’s your best friend, Derek, how long have we known him? Fourteen years? That kind of friendship doesn’t end overnight. Just get your head out of your ass, stop being a fucking douche, and everything will be fine.”   
  
How convinced will Laura be when she sees Stiles at her wedding completely avoiding Derek?   


As the day goes on, Derek gets worse and worse at hiding his anxieties. He fiddles with the centerpieces on tables, he checks a thousand times which chair at the head table is his, he spends forty minutes arranging the chairs outside at the makeshift altar until they’re all perfectly centered.

When the ceremony starts, Stiles is sitting on the other side of the aisle next to his father, but Derek can’t see past him to find out who’s on his left.   
  
Derek watches with teary eyes as his sister walks down the aisle, he takes pictures and checks himself and is determined not to make his sister’s wedding about him and his stupid issues. He talks to Will at the head table over dinner and pretends not to scan the seats for where they put Stiles and his father. During his speech, he makes sure to make eye contact with everyone at their tables, because that’s polite -- not because he’s searching for the Stilinskis.   
  
In the end, Derek can’t find their seats and pay respectful attention to a conversation in the small amount of time before dinner is over and the dancing begins.    
  
He should be ashamed of himself, but Derek immediately finds Laura after dinner is over, and asks her frantically, “Did Stiles talk to you recently?”   
  
She’s beautiful in her dress, and even a surprised look on her face makes her seem like a Disney princess come to life. “You mean today?”   
  
“No, earlier. Maybe a couple days ago or earlier this week--”   
  
Derek isn’t expecting the smack to the back of the head that he gets in response. “You idiot. You’re still not talking to him, are you?”   
  
“That’s beside the point, Laura.”   
  
“No,” she says, crossing her arms, “it isn’t. You’ve been an asshole. I don’t even know what you’ve done, but you’re probably doing that sulky thing you do where you misinterpret everyone’s actions and then get all snarky about shit they didn’t do.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighs, and then looks at Derek again. It’s gentle when she rests a hand on his cheek. “Listen, Derek. I love you, but you’re a moron. It’s probably just some miscommunication between you two. You’ll work it out. Talk to him.”   
  
“But--”   
  
“ _ Talk to him, _ Derek. You see this thing we’re doing here? It’s called communication. It’s great! I know you’re a Hale, but you should try it out sometime. Really helpful.” And then she gives him a kiss on the forehead and starts walking toward the barn to cut the cake and dance.    
  
Before she walks in the door, she turns around and shouts back, “And no, he didn’t talk to me!”   
  
So then Stiles brought Adam without asking Laura first. Jesus, the guy has no boundaries.   
  
Even after the whole lecture from O Sister Dearest, Derek is determined not to speak to Stiles unless spoken to. He’s not going to seek out disaster on his sister’s wedding day -- they can sort out their shit later.   
  
And they will, in time.   


The first dance for the groom and the bride goes by, tears in Mark Hale’s eyes as he watches his first child dance with the man she’s married. Talia stands beside her husband, holding the hand that’s resting on her shoulder. When the time comes, they separate for Mark to dance with Laura, and Derek can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face.   
  
For a moment, everything else in his life fades to black, and Derek can only see his beautiful older sister, happiest she’s ever been, possible tears welling for the first time since she was eleven and Derek spilled paint on all her clothes trying to impress Stiles. Will dances with his mother on the other edge of the dance floor, and the music is loud but Derek’s head is silent. He doesn’t even notice when Cora comes up next to him until she speaks.   
  
“I didn’t think Laur could get more gorgeous, but there she is. I hate her.” Cora’s arms are crossed, but it’s clear she’s only happy for their older sister.   
  
Derek huffs a laugh. “Probably not the best thing to say on her wedding day, there, champ.”   
  
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”   
  
“Do you think this means Will can finally stop kissing up to Peter?”   
  
Cora laughs outright. “Pretty sure he gave up on that years ago and has just been mocking Uncle Pete this whole time.” She gives Derek a pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to go get fucked on red wine. Want anything?”   
  
“Cora.”   
  
“Suit yourself, bub. Check ya later.”   
  
Derek stands by himself for a little while longer, until the Father-Bride dance has finished and Laura pulls herself from Mark. He watches as she catches his eye and begins to walk toward him. She should be dancing with Will again -- anything she has to say to Derek can wait. Why does she look so determined?   
  
Laura extends a hand once she’s a couple feet in front of him, raising her eyebrows. Derek doesn’t reply, simply staring at her hand, confused. She sighs and tries again. “Dance with me, little bro. It’s my wedding day, you can’t say no.”   
  
“I knew you were going to milk that for all it’s worth.”   
  
“Shut up and dance with me, Der-Bear. Life is changing.”   
  
As though that weren’t the most confusing and ominous thing she possibly could have said, Laura closes her eyes and begins to spin him, obviously leading the dance Derek knows nothing about. He does his best not to mess up his sister too much, and prays he can at least learn a little as she leads him.   
  
A little over halfway through the song, Derek sends his sister off to her new husband with a flourish. Will grabs her hand and spins her into his chest, looking at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Laura turns her head back to wink at Derek before leaning into Will’s chest.

With nothing else to do, no desire to eat and no motivation to talk to anyone, Derek sits on a chair on the other end of the barn with a glass of wine from the bar. He watches as more and more people join the newly weds on the dance floor, and of course his brain immediately jumps to searching for Stiles. His eyes strain, looking for any glimpse of him dancing with whoever might be Adam.   
  
Derek can’t see anything for the life of him.   
  
Though Laura would disagree, Derek isn’t wallowing in the corner being a martyr. He is genuinely enjoying watching the dance floor, has no yearning to be a part of it, and no one to dance with even if he did. He’s perfectly comfortable sitting on the sidelines and watching. He wants to remember the night forever -- the easiest way to do that is committing every sight to memory.   
  
What Derek doesn’t expect is for Stiles to stand directly in his view, beer in hand. He looks expectant, but Derek has no clue what he’s supposed to say or do.   
  
“Hey,” Derek chokes out, because it’s the best he can do. He has to yell over the music but it still comes out broken, so he coughs and tries again. “Hey.”   
  
“Didn’t I say I was done with this?”   
  
It takes some effort for Derek to make sure his face shows no sign of the punch he just felt directly in his gut. “You came up to me, Stiles.”   
  
The boy across from him sighs, takes a swig of his beer. Keith’s -- so predictable. “I know, dude, that’s what I’m talking about.”    
  
“I don’t understand, what--”   
  
Stiles chugs the rest of his beer, puts the empty bottle on the bar counter behind Derek, and says, very clearly, “Dance with me.”   
  
Derek sputters, trying to figure out when he started having strokes and mishearing people. “What?”   
  
“You heard me. Come dance.”   
  
“Stiles--”   
  
“For fuck’s sake, Derek,” Stiles laughs, easily, light-hearted, “Just come dance with me. Please?”   
  
This time, Derek doesn’t fight, simply nods and lets Stiles take the glass of wine out of his hand. At this point, there’s no doubt Derek is more drunk than Stiles, who has probably only had two beers the entire night, while Derek has sat drinking red wine since prep started hours ago.   
  
There’s no reason why Stiles should be the one asking Derek to dance, yet here they are, Stiles leading him to the dance floor.   
  
It’s hard to ignore the few moments of hesitation as Stiles looks down at their hands and considers where to put them. He settles on leading Derek’s hands to his waist and resting his own on Derek’s shoulders.   
  
It’s hard not to think about how many times Derek’s hands have rested there before, less clothing involved, more bruising, less dancing, heavier breathing. He keeps his hands steady, determined not to give into the urge to press his thumbs in or move his hands lower.   
  
It’s hard to focus on Stiles, forcing Derek to pull him in closer, and dancing at the same time.   
  
It’s hard to dance with someone like this when you don’t know where you stand with them.   
  
It’s hard to be mad or bitter or hold onto any jealousy when Stiles is looking at him with honey eyes and a slight smile on his lips. It’s hard not to kiss him. It’s hard not to say everything, it’s hard to say anything, it’s hard to breathe.    
  
They’ve never really danced together, not like this. Stiles sighs again, trying to catch Derek’s eyes. “Go ahead.”   
  
“What?” Derek asks, because Stiles clearly has a newfound love for being cryptic.   
  
He only blinks at Derek in return. “Just ask me already, I know you’re dying to.”   
  
Derek swallows. “Where’s Adam?”   
  
Stiles lets out a small little laugh. Derek has missed the ones that aren’t bitter. “He didn’t come. You’re an idiot, you know that?”   
  
It’s hard not to be taken aback, but Stiles says it with affection. It’s light-hearted. “Why?”   
  
“I would have needed to invite him weeks in advance for him to actually be able to come. You can’t just add a plus one to a wedding like this two weeks before the date. Of course I wasn’t going to bring him.”   
  
“Oh,” is all Derek can force himself to say. He waits a few moments, spinning around the room and doing his best to avoid Stiles’ gaze. “Have you seen where he lives yet?”   
  
Stiles huffs a little laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not seeing him anymore, Derek, we stopped talking a couple days after I met him.”   
  
“What?” Derek sputters. He does that a lot now, apparently.   
  
“He was pretty lame. Pretty sure I only liked his leather jacket, which turned out to be thin and weird and not-- anyway, he didn’t like how I kept mentioning you and our adventures.”   
  
“We do have a lot of those. Seven years worth.” It’s Derek’s turn to laugh. It’s a little nervous, a little uneasy, but it’s better than it has been, so he can't complain.  “You’re ridiculous.”   
  
“Clearly we both are.”   
  
The rest of the evening is more enjoyable than Derek thought.   



	16. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

After the wedding, Laura pesters Derek to text Stiles and arrange a time and place to talk. “There are things you guys clearly need to work out, okay, so stop being an idiot. It’s better to get it all out in the open than to let it sit and fester.”

Of course, it being the day after her wedding, Laura should definitely be off somewhere having the world given to her by her new husband. However, their plane to Barbados leaves tomorrow morning and Laura needed her bathing suit from Derek’s guest room closet in the apartment. He can’t even remember why it’s there in the first place -- maybe from the last time they went to the beach? In any case, she hasn’t managed to leave yet, still all too focused on lecturing her little brother.  
  
“Laura, I don’t even know what we would talk about. How do you start that off? What do you say?” He shakes his head, walking away from her out of the kitchen and into his living room. “It’s pointless. We always work shit out on our own.”   
  
From the doorway to the kitchen, Laura crosses her arms and leans against the wall. “Yeah, maybe that worked before. You guys have always been in sync, so there wasn’t an issue -- but now there’s a rift, Derek, don’t you see it? You just have to get on the same page again and you can’t do that unless you air out all your dirty laundry.”   
  
Derek looks the other way. He distracts himself, tries to turn on the TV, but Laura sighs and sits down beside him, taking the remote from his hands and turning it back off again. She puts the remote down on the table and grabs for his hands.

Derek, of course, out of habit, tries to pull them back.  
  
And because Laura is consistently Never Having Any of His Bullshit, she smacks him lightly on the arm and motions for him to put his hands back in hers. “None of that. Have a moment with me, Derek, for fucks sake.” He laughs a little and obeys, but then her face gets serious.   
  
He’s uncomfortable again.   
  
“I know you like him. And now I know that you’ve figured it out too.”   
  
“What? I couldn’t--” She cuts him off with a single look, urging him to cut the shit.   
  
“Derek, how long have you known him?”   
  
He sighs. “Fourteen years.”   
  
“And Derek, how long have you liked him?”   
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
“How long have you known you like him?”   
  
“A couple months.”   
  
She smiles a little, squeezes his hands. “I’m going to ask again, because I know you know the answer now. Derek, from the very first crush you had on him, to all the small crushes in between, to this moment, how long have you liked him?”   
  
He chokes a little.

“Fourteen years.”  
  
Laura bursts into celebratory laughter, as though crushing on someone who doesn’t like you back for fourteen years is something to celebrate. She takes a breather, puts Derek’s hands back in his lap, takes a hand away to press it to his cheek. “I love you, Derek, but you’re a moron.”   
  
It’s then that Derek breaks down. He leans into Laura’s hand and then onto her shoulder, and she moves her hands to rub his back. “Hey, champ, it’s okay.”   
  
“I think I love him,” he says, into her shoulder.

She sighs and replies softly, “I know.”

  
“What do I do?” He asks, after a moment, because she’s probably going to tell him bashing his head through the fucking drywall is a bad idea, and that’s something he definitely needs right now.   
  
“Tell him.”   
  
Derek sighs, melting into Laura’s shoulder. “I can’t do that, Laur, it’s not that easy.”   
  
She pulls his head back so she can look him in the eye. Her thumb rubs softly on his right ear, and she grips his face tightly. It’s reassuring, and Derek is unspeakably glad she came over. “Tell him.”   
  
Derek can’t help pulling away, shaking his head and getting up. “I told you, it’s not that easy.”   
  
“What could possibly go so wrong?” Laura asks, and this time she doesn’t move from the couch to follow him. She sounds almost as exhausted over this as Derek does -- almost. “You two have been friends forever, he’s part of the family. It’s not like that will just fall apart overnight.”   
  
It’s hard to remember that Laura doesn’t know the full story between him and Stiles -- and he doesn’t plan on telling her. “There’s more to it than that. I’ll -- God, I don’t know. I’ll talk to him, I guess, but not yet.” He can’t help walking aimlessly in front of the couch, and Laura’s worried gaze follows him with every step. He never thought he was the pacing type, but apparently love makes people do crazy things.   
  
Or something.   
  
It’s a few days before Derek eventually sees Stiles again. Laura and Will are off having their newly-wed fun in Barbados, Erica is starting her job at the local thrift store, Boyd’s working, Isaac, Scott and Allison are all focused on their last year of highschool. There’s really no one else for either of them to spend their time with.   
  
Derek resolves not to tell Stiles right away. They’re just moving back into their friendship, and he wants both of them to remember who they were to each other before he fucks it all up again with confessions.   
  
There’s a part of him that never wants to tell Stiles -- and after a week of hanging out again, that side wins. He’s hung out with Stiles enough to convince himself it’s not a necessary conversation, and they slide back into figuring out what’s normal for their friendship now. It’s mostly easy -- a little awkward when deciding how close to sit on the couch or accidentally touching the others ass as they walk by -- but they’re able to laugh it off and for the first time in a long time, Derek is comfortable with Stiles again.   
  
Truly comfortable.   
  
That, of course, doesn’t stop Laura. She texts him daily with new ways to pester him about his relationship with Stiles and the status of his confessions.   
  
One day it’s,   
  
tell me how it goes when you tell him

and the next is,

so have you told him yet?    
  
and the day after:

you’re going to tell him soon, right?   
  
and then:

so you’ve told him? how did it go 

derek promise me you won’t wait too long 

you have to tell him 

it’s only going to get worse 

 

The messages come day after day, and Derek has to continually tell her,

**Okay.**

**No, not yet.**

**I’ll tell him eventually.**

**Soon, Laura.**

**I won’t. I’ll tell him soon.** **  
****  
** **I will, just wait.** **  
****  
** **I know.** **  
****  
** It gets exhausting, after a certain point, and there’s only so long Derek can keep it up. He can’t keep telling her this forever, he hates being pestered, and he probably will tell Stiles eventually. It’s better to just get her off his back until then, and Derek decides the next time she texts, he’ll just lie.

Except the next time she texts, Derek’s phone is sitting on the counter while Stiles is over, and he’s too stupid to assume it’s Laura. He’s too stupid to remember the type of shit she texts him almost every day now.  
  
Stiles isn’t the snooping type, so in the end, that’s not the issue--

Which, actually, is totally untrue. Stiles definitely is the snooping type -- as the curious son of the county sheriff, Stiles has stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong more times than Derek can count -- but there’s always a limit. And he’d never unlock Derek’s phone and look through it without asking first.

So Derek continues cooking, seasoning the chicken with his hands, and asks Stiles to shoot a text to Erica for him, completely disregarding the text notification (with a preview) that must still be up on the screen. Stiles has known his passcode for years, Derek doesn’t think anything of it.

They eat dinner as usual, hanging out, watching shows, sitting closer than they have recently on the couch together and even sharing the same blanket again. The text from before, obviously, has no significance in Derek’s mind at this point, and he has all but forgotten about the unreplied message he received an hour earlier, while he was still preparing the food.

It’s all well and good until after the second episode of Daredevil, Derek receives another text, his message tone sounding from where his phone still lies in the kitchen. It normally wouldn’t phase Derek, mostly because he’s not really dependent on his phone like some others seem to be, except for the fact that Stiles pauses the show, looks at Derek, and demands, pseudo-casually, “Are you going to go read that?”  
  
“What?” Derek replies, confused, because he really didn’t expect Stiles to pause the TV, or ask Derek about the text, or really say anything of the sort at all.   
  
Stiles just nods in the direction of the kitchen again. He seems a little uneasy, a hint of -- anger? Derek really, _really_ doesn’t want to go back to this. Not now. “It’s rude to not reply to a text.”   
  
“It’s probably just my mom or something--”   
  
“Or maybe it’s Laura.”   
  
As much as Derek wants to read Stiles’ face, he can’t. It’s a flawless pokerface, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. At all. “It might be, I guess,” Derek responds carefully, unsure of the waters he’s treading. With the mention of Laura’s name, he’s immediately nervous. “She won’t mind if I don’t reply for a while, I’d rather be here with you--”

“Oh no,” Stiles says, getting up, and there’s a weird tone to his voice. “Please, by all means. What if it’s important? Here, I’ll get it for you.”  
  
It’s clear something is off. It’s suspicious, Stiles is uneasy, there’s something in his voice that’s cutting in and out. He sounds like he’s pushing the words out and Derek just doesn’t get it. He’s praying Stiles didn’t snoop. He’s praying Laura sent him something insignificant, or Stiles just managed to pick her name out of chance.  
  
But Stiles walks over to the kitchen, comes back with Derek’s phone in hand, and for some reason Derek just knows it’s not that easy.  
  
Stiles holds up the phone to Derek’s face, showing him the text notification still on the screen from earlier. Of course there are two, one more recent text from Erica and the one from Laura, but it’s clear which one Stiles wants Derek to look at. “Think this is important enough to respond to?”  
  
tell the damn boy you love him. stiles deserves to know.

Of course Derek is an idiot, so Stiles didn’t need to search through his phone, he doesn’t need to be that sneaky. No, Derek, the fucking genius, asks Stiles to text Erica for him while he makes dinner, right after he got a notification.

He should have expected that Laura would have sent him another text.

He should have known that Stiles would see it, and of course he would wonder, and of course he would say something.  
  
But why not say something when he first saw it? Why wait?

Derek chokes. He just looks up at Stiles, who no longer looks angry or bitter at all but instead looks sad, whose eyebrows have knit together, who looks like Derek has betrayed him.   
  
“Stiles, I don’t know what you think that means, but I promise you--”   
  
Stiles sets Derek’s phone down on the table beside the couch, but he stays standing. He looks uncomfortable for a second and then crosses his arms. “No, I have no clue what it means. I don’t know whether you’re supposed to be telling me, or telling someone else, I don’t know who she’s talking about or -- God, would you please just explain? No bullshit, just explain.”   
  
Derek sighs before readjusting his position on the couch. “Are you sure you want to hear it? I don’t want it to change anything -- I… you know I’m bad at talking about stuff.”   
  
“Yeah, asshole, that’s why you should do it more.”   
  
He huffs a laugh in reply and nods. Stiles is right, and so is Laura. It’s -- he doesn’t know how to start, though. Derek’s heart feels like it’s bound to beat right out of his damn chest. There are a thousand ways this could go wrong; Stiles could laugh in his face, could freak out, could say all he wanted was a good fuck and laugh at Derek for actually falling for him. He could say he thought they were just messing around, or they’re just friends, or it’s too weird and they can’t talk anymore.   
  
It’s so vulnerable, but time is passing so slowly and yet everything has happened so quickly at the same time. It’s hard for Derek to keep up, and he doesn’t know whether to stall or lead into it or rip it off like a fucking band-aid.   
  
“Listen,” Stiles starts, and it’s a good thing he does because it’s possible Derek would have let the silence drone on forever. “She said I deserve to know, and if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I mean, I’m kind of insulted, to tell you the truth, that you wouldn’t trust me after all this time, but I get it. I can wait. But I swear to God, if you were in love with a guy the entire time you put me through the whole “Adam” and “space thing” I might go mental. And you’re allowed to like -- I don’t know, I can’t control you or your emotions, but -- I’m just trying to figure out what all this means and I’m tired, dude, I’m tired. I want us to go back to normal.”   
  
“This isn’t going to help with that.” It’s true. When Derek tells him, it will probably change everything.   
  
“I know,” Stiles replies, nodding, and he finally sits down on the coffee table across from Derek. “But I feel like there’s a thousand things we’re not telling each other and it’s -- it’s ridiculous, it’s exhausting. I’m not used to us not talking or not hanging out or not telling each other shit, it’s just sad. So just tell me, and we can -- fucking, I don’t know -- clear the waters, tell each other everything and then… start over from there, I guess, I don’t know--”   
  
“I love you.”   
  
Stiles plows on, as though he hadn’t heard anything. “But I just want to get back to what we used to be again or so help me God, I will die trying--” His eyes had been closed up until now, hands flying everywhere, but now Stiles’ eyes are wide open and he is frozen.   
  
There’s a pause.   
  
“Hold on, come again?”   
  
It’s serious, it’s a serious moment, but Derek is legitimately fighting back the urge to laugh a little. “It’s _you,_ Stiles. It’s you I’m in love with.”   
  
“Are you fucking serious?”   
  
Here comes everything Derek feared -- brace for impact. He nods, wincing already.   
  
But Stiles is quiet. When Derek opens his eyes, Stiles has shrunk, his hands collecting slowly together into his lap, his back slouching. It’s not a fight anymore. “You love me?” he asks, and it’s quiet -- fuck, it’s so unsure.   
  
“I think so.” It’s all Derek can force himself to say. He’s still waiting on a reaction -- good or bad -- from the boy opposite him, and Derek is so, so afraid.   
  
“You,” Stiles repeats, pointing a finger at Derek’s chest, and he looks exasperated. “Love me?”   
  
Derek sighs, but his irritation is affectionate. “Will you stop repeating it and say something? I’m dying over here.”   
  
There’s a couple moments pause where Stiles is quiet, considering. It’s like he wants to torture Derek as much as he possibly can, make him wait, milk it for all it’s worth. It’s killing Derek to wait this long for an answer. Any answer.   
  
The next words out of Stiles’ mouth are soft, but powerful. “Were you ever going to tell me?”   
  
He doesn’t mean to hesitate, but he does. Derek falters over the first word of reply and has to breathe, think a little. “Yes.”   
  
“Derek--”   
  
“No, I was, I promise. There was a little while there where I thought it might -- ruin things, but I knew one day I was going to have to tell you.”   
  
Stiles shifts in his seat, scratches the back of his head. “How long?”   
  
“I only realized recently, but -- a long time. You don’t want to know.”   
  
As much as it would have been nice to have Stiles disagree, to have Stiles state that he wants to know, that nothing Derek said could scare him away. But instead he just nods, moves on to his next question. “You didn’t want to ruin things?”   
  
“I didn’t -- I still don’t know how you’re going to react.” He leans forward to put his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together in front of him. He sighs and feels the breath flow all down his back, shoulders moving under the fabric of his shirt. In all honesty, he just wants Stiles to say something definitive. Anything, good or bad.

Knees so close they’re nearly touching Derek’s hands, Stiles looks up at him. “Derek, I’m not going to run, and I’m not going to judge you or freak out.”  
  
Derek nods, but his heart is plummeting. They’re going to stay the same, which is great, and Derek’s happy because he should be -- at least he didn’t ruin everything, right? But this also means Stiles is working out how to deal with this information, because he doesn’t feel the same. Of course he doesn’t.  
  
Derek doesn’t move, forcing himself to believe he’s happy with that, too. He’s focusing on breathing, making sure his body is still doing it, making sure his breaths are deep and slow. Rejection is fine, he chants in his head. Rejection is fine.  
  
But then there’s a hand on his own, folded in front of him, and he lifts his head to see Stiles smiling, just a little. It’s a shy smile, a small one, simple. Then he says one thing he never expected to hear.  
  
“Can I kiss you?”  
  
It takes a moment to process, because Derek almost thinks, for a second, that it came from his own mouth. But it didn’t, and Stiles is looking hopeful, and Derek can’t comprehend why in the hell he would even bother asking. “What?” Derek replies -- casual? Check; smooth? Check. “Yes, God, Stiles, yes.”  
  
And then the hand on Derek’s own squeezes a little, and Stiles’ other hand comes up to rest on Derek’s neck, thumb on his jaw. It’s not much of a lean, which is good, and it’s not uncomfortable.  
  
Unlike every other time they’ve kissed, this one is slow, thought out. Derek chases after the taste in Stiles’ mouth, and it feels like he’s finally allowed to. It’s a short kiss, Stiles’ lips soft against his own, and when Stiles pulls back he looks giddy.  
  
Derek imagines he probably looks hopeful, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.   
  
“I can’t--”

  
Stiles starts, but Derek cuts in. There’s something he wants to get out in the open before Stiles does anything he regrets. He holds up a finger to let Stiles know he just wants to say something first. “I just want you to know I’m not expecting anything in return. I mean, that -- that was great, but -- I don’t want anything. I don’t want you to say or do anything you wouldn’t otherwise.”   
  
There’s a small pause while Stiles nods carefully. “Yeah, okay. I was just going to say, I’m not sure I can say it back to you just yet, but-- yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve always thought of you as a little more than just a friend, and when we started messing around, I think I realized it wasn’t just physical either.” Derek simply hums, and Stiles continues. They really are airing out all their dirty laundry. “I wanted to force myself to stop hitting on you, I didn’t want to be the one to catch feelings and then get dumped but-- wait.”   
  
Derek’s head shoots up, worried. Stiles’ eyebrows are knitting together and it’s not reassuring at all. “If you -- then why did you stop? Why did you friendship dump me and benefits dump me if you -- you know -- like, loved me?”   
  
Relieved, Derek huffs a small laugh. “It was painful, Stiles. I could have you, but I couldn’t _have_ you. Every time we hooked up it was just another slap to the face. I felt like something you should be ashamed of.” The last part he knows he says quietly. When he looks up, Stiles’ face is horrified. “What?”   
  
“Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my God, Derek, I would never want you to feel that way, _ever_ . Holy shit, dude! I can’t believe -- out of all people -- God damn it. I’m so, so sorry. You’re -- I would never have done anything if I knew it would hurt you, okay, dude, I’m anything but ashamed of you. I have never been prouder to be your friend and I literally show you off all the time, you’re the coolest guy I know, you’re my favourite person on the planet and there’s no one else I’d rather -- hold on a second.”   
  
Derek doesn’t breathe until Stiles speaks again.   
  
“Holy shit, dude, I do love you,” Stiles says, eyes wide, and Derek just has to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only two more chapters after this!! as always, thank you so much for reading. thanks for those who have stuck with me this far, and those who encouraged me to keep writing. thank you to those who leave comments, including those that tell me how to improve. you guys are absolutely the best. please continue to comment on works, it's like leaving 10 kudos and it feels AMAZING to every author.
> 
> remember you can always contact me on tumblr at grimegarage.tumblr.com!


	17. "God, I missed you."

It isn’t immediately perfect after that.

After spending months either down each other’s pants, pining, at each other’s necks, or ignoring the hell out of each other, it can’t all be fixed with a couple declarations of love. It’s a fact Derek was relatively prepared to deal with, after Stiles went home later that night.   
  
They move slowly, working around each other and weaving the tapestry of their friendship back into place. It’s filled with lots of “is this alright,” “not yet,” and “I need more.” Sometimes it’s Stiles being verbal, sometimes it’s Derek being very non-verbal. Sometimes it’s vice-versa.   
  
But they go out to ice cream together, and they test holding hands in public, and they essentially just repair their friendship with occasional kisses along the way.   
  
Erica, Lydia, Scott, Allison, Isaac and Laura are all ecstatic, of course -- while Boyd and Cora smile softly and it’s just as uplifting. It’s an incredible feeling.   
  
When Stiles comes to Derek’s apartment later in the next week after a movie, it seems like nothing had ever gone wrong between them. It feels like the best moments of their hookups and their friendship have been mushed together -- even though they haven’t done anything remotely sexual yet.    
  
Stiles moves past Derek into the kitchen, going for two glasses and some chocolate milk from the fridge -- chocolate milk that Stiles made him buy when they went grocery shopping a couple days ago. “You need to treat yourself,” he had stated, without question, as he placed two cartons into the basket. “Don’t argue with me, this will make you happy.”   
  
He wasn’t wrong.   
  
Stiles joins Derek up in his bed with the two glasses a minute later, and puts them on the bedside table before crawling into the bed. Derek, of course, has Netflix up and running already, and he trades Stiles the remote for his glass of milk.   
  
“You’re letting me pick again?” Stiles has the look of a six year old who was just told Santa’s coming six months early. “God, I missed you.”   
  
Derek laughs, careful not to spill his drink. “Of course.” Stiles starts flipping through the movies and TV shows, occasionally commenting on certain ones he did or did not like, and two minutes later he’s chosen the Spiderman Cartoon from the 90s. “Are you serious?” Derek has to ask, because that’s what their friendship -- that’s what their relationship is. And that’s what it always has been. “With this and the chocolate milk, I feel like a kid watching Sunday cartoons.”   
  
“Duh, dude. That’s far from having a bad time, okay, this shit is golden. It’s so bad, it’s fucking genius. You’ll love it, I promise,” He says, big grin on his face, and Derek wants to kiss it. 

And then he realizes he can. 

So he does.   
  
“You’re ridiculous,” He says, quietly, pulling his lips from Stiles. There are butterflies in Derek’s stomach that have refused to settle since he told Stiles he loved him.

“But you love me,” Comes Stiles’ confident response.   
  
“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “I do.”   
  
Lazy Sundays it is.

 

 

**_17\. b)      "Stop pinning this on me! You started it!"_ **

A couple weeks later, closer to Christmas time, they’re at Derek’s apartment getting ready for a family dinner, putting on dress shirts and everything. Of course, Stiles has been to Derek’s family home a million times before, but this is different. This is his first time going as Derek’s boyfriend.   
  
They worked out the details of what they were calling each other and how their relationship would go a couple nights ago over Thai, and while it was hard to focus with all their joking, Derek is ecstatic to finally give Stiles a title.   
  
Of course, things still get a little distracted between them -- they’re in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, they can’t be expected to keep their hands off each other at all times.   
  
Stiles stands in the corner of Derek’s loft bedroom, tie around his shoulders, focusing on butting up his maroon dress shirt. It’s a colour that suits him so well, Derek could cry and then paint a portrait out of his tears and sell it to an art museum. The deep, warm red brings out the light honey tones of Stiles’ eyes and hair, as well as the paleness of his skin -- which then makes his moles pop. It’s not Derek’s fault if he can’t take his eyes off the ones on Stiles’ neck.

“What’chya lookin’ at there, bub?” There’s a smirk plastered on Stiles’ face as he watches Derek’s eyes crawl back up to meeting his own. Derek blushes, but doesn’t have the decency to try and hide it.

Instead he moves closer to Stiles, tugging him in by a belt loop on his pants. “Oh nothing, just my beautiful boyfriend.” The blush it calls up to Stiles’ cheeks is totally worth every cheesy syllable.    
  
With a laugh Stiles resumes butting up his shirt. “Hey, come on now, Der, we have a dinner to get to.”   
  
Derek rolls his eyes light-heartedly, walking over to the other side of the room to put on his shirt. He buttons it up slowly as Stiles knots his tie, and then begins to roll up his sleeves.  

“Okay, uh -- nope, no. I’m sorry, dude --” Stiles advances on him, eventually putting his hands on Derek’s chest, “This is just -- this should be illegal, holy fuck, I swear to God. It’s a good thing we’re dating because I think I would be fighting the urge to jump you right now no matter what.”   


“What?” Derek says, looking down while Stiles balls his fists in Derek's dress shirt. 

Stiles tugs him down by his collar, and before kissing him, says, “You look really, really good right now.”

Instinctively, Derek responds by gripping his own hands onto Stiles’ hips and pulling him closer, humming into Stiles’ mouth. When they break away for air, Stiles moving down to press kisses into Derek’s neck (something that typically happens the other way around) Derek has to laugh even as his fingers thread their way through Stiles’ hair. “Someone's eager.”

“Mm,” Stiles mumbles back into the skin under Derek’s jaw. “This was you two minutes ago. Not my fault.”

Laughing, they tumble back onto the bed together, pants growing tighter, Derek’s shirt hanging off and his shoulders and Stiles’ slowly coming undone. Derek slides a hand down the back of Stiles’ black jeans, grabbing a handful of the ass that's tormented him for the past couple months.

Stiles giggles, as much as he can while his lips are still brushing Derek's own, and while one hand holds him up over Derek's head on the bed, the other goes for Derek's buckle. 

While Stiles dips down to kiss at Derek's bare chest this time, Derek has to sigh. “We really do have places to be,” he says even as he's smiling, Stiles kissing down his hip bones as his pants are being slid off. 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles hums in return, but he doesn't stop tugging Derek’s pants down, and he definitely doesn't stop moving his kisses lower until he's mouthing at the fabric of Derek’s boxers over his dick, already fully hard. 

Stiles eventually tugs the waistband down and between gasps and the arching of his back, Derek breathes, “Come on, Stiles -- fuck, oh my god -- we have a -- a dinner to get to.”

“You come on,” Stiles winks, putting Derek back in his mouth and sucking hard. He pulls off again with an obscene pop and says, lips red, “The sooner you come, the sooner we can go.”

And then it's back to Derek gasping, Stiles blowing him like his life depends on it. They're going to be late -- there's no doubt about it. But for this? It's worth it. 

When Derek finally comes, closing his eyes and breathing Stiles’ name, it's already five minutes past when they were supposed to be there, and it's a ten minute drive. Stiles only looks smug butting up his shirt and then helping Derek button his, fine motor skills still having abandoned him after getting his soul sucked out through his dick. 

“You’re getting yours later,” Derek sighs from the bed, finally putting in an effort to put back on his pants and underwear. “Unlike  _ someone _ , I don't want to be late.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Stop pinning this on me dude, you started it.”

Derek can't help laughing, and he smacks Stiles’ ass as they walk out of the apartment.    
  


When they walk into the Hale House holding hands and laughing at each other, a specific glow in their eyes, Laura immediately bursts into laughter. Derek feels a strong blush rise to his cheeks, but Stiles just kisses the left side of his face and drags him into his own family home. 

Dinner is a bit of an adventure, but it's Christmas season and there’s no reason for any of them to worry. 


	18. +1: "Yes."

Two years later, on the anniversary of their first proper date, Stiles takes Derek back to the small ice cream shop they used to go to every Saturday as kids, the same one they went to for that very first date.

And after they get their ice cream, Stiles puts his on the counter, claiming to need to tie his shoe. Derek looks down at him like he's the only person in the room, and doesn't even notice when a select few of the other people in the shop begin to stare.

And then Stiles looks up at him, down on one knee, with a box in his hand, honey eyes sparkling beautifully. His voice cracks just slightly as he starts speaking.

 

 

“Derek, you're the best friend I've ever had, ever will have, and could ever ask for. I have known you better and for longer than I have known myself, and I wouldn't know what to do without you. You’re the one and only love of my life. Will you marry me?”

 

Without hesitation, Derek starts nodding. “Yes.” He says it a thousand times, in a thousand ways, and he says it for days after.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I can't thank any of you enough for sticking with me. this fic was structured really weird, and the flow between chapters was lacking sometimes but I did my best with what i had and i'm so glad you guys stuck around to read the end.
> 
> please leave comments and criticisms or contact me on tumblr!!! grimegarage.tumblr.com
> 
> ALSO PLEASE WATCH EYEWITNESS IF YOU LIVE IN THE US. this is probably not the best place to support the show, but I promise you won't be let down. thank you, all of you. don't know where i'd be without you guys.


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